Dreams of Long Summer Nights
by Peppermint-Poppy
Summary: Written for Resbang 2015 "She remebers why they went here all those times. The beautiful smell, chirping birds, humidity in the air... WShe quickly discards her flip-flops, burrowing her toes in the moist choppy grass, props her arms on her hips and breaths in a lungful of the wonderful clean air. So this is Lake Tahoe."Camp!Au with smoker/mechanic!Soul and bearcat!Maka
1. Chapter 1

**A.N: Finally, i have won over tha battle of Resbang challenge. And this is the result. I hope you will enjoy!**

 **Anyway, check out the beautiful art by MsSketch, on tumblr. You can find it on my profile page. It was a pleasure wotking with you Cherri!**

 **Disclaimer: I own pretty much nothing. Especially not Soul Eater.**

* * *

It's annoying, really.

Just her, her dad, and their rusty old van.

Well, if she doesn't count the old skipping record of 'Old MacDonald had a farm'–the cheesiest of car songs. Okay, she used to love that stuff, but she was like five at that time, so that doesn't count– and the bouncing of their Mercedes van. She still remembers the day her papa has shown up at their doorstep, the van, its orange paint still vibrant and oh-so-eye-hurting at the time, behind his back; her mama yelled at him that evening and he had to sleep a week on the couch before she warmed up to the idea that yes, indeed, they were going to spend a month riding over America, God help them.

And, of course, she tried to ignore the ever present yipping of 'Maka, pumpkin, don't read in the car.'

Yeah. She knows. She is not seven and sick from reading 'Where the Wild Things are' anymore–she has overcome her motion sickness by the course of the following years with hard training: many more sickness ridden car rides, scolding from her dad but also many cups of hot tea and back-rubbing from her mama. All for better good. May the car-reading rule the world.

Her sock-clad feet slip a few centimeters down the dashboard and she props them up higher this time, careful not to touch the front glass. Her father always threw a fit whenever there was something smudged on it. Better avoid it when possible.

She softly caresses the pages, its small black letters and the soft old paper they are imprinted on. This book makes her think of her mother. She has sent it to her three years ago on her birthday, with a small note attached: 'I hope you like it.'

The front seat–her mama's seat–has been occupied by her for the better part of the last decade. The old blanket, which her granny put together from various pieces of older fabric is still hanging over her back rest, where her mama left it on their last trip together. It was their eight trip. She still remembers how it used to smell; of black tea and home and safety.

She looks at her dad. His hair is blowing in the wind from his open window–really they should have gotten the air-conditioning repaired before the Grand Journey XII–his red hair gleaming in the morning sun, his elbow out and his humming still as out of rhythm as ever. Guess she inherited his musical deafness.

Guess some things never change.

She presses down the few naughty pages that flutter in the breeze and try to overtake her current page, and then gives up and looks at the passing country and the road (there is nothing to see, really. Just dry soil, small grass, and a bush from time to time. Occasionally a hitcher with smoking car behind).

Their annual summer rides–reaching the count of twelve this year– have been sort of a melancholy reminder of what she has lost some years back–a family, mother, and a father for few months, as an example. She used to sulk and blame her dad, but she had figured out who stayed and who really left left her. Six years ago, she couldn't even look at the person beside her without gritting her teeth and balling her fists. What a long way she has come.

But she still liked the road trip fair enough to go. Because there was life, she tells herself as a sort of an excuse, life and university and duties she needed to uphold, and this was the distraction from all of it, from all of the things she would need to face when this summer passed.

She buries her nose deeper in her book and tries to squash her urge to sing along with the overly cheery 'Quack quack here.'

"And quack, quack there!" Her father yells out, surprisingly in tune–the melody is simple after all–but his voice still as atrocious as ever. Which is just hilarious, really. She chuckles in the pages and tries to hide her face behind the hardcover as she looks elsewhere. But the damage is already done.

Her papa looks at her, mischievous look intact and his expression persuasive. His eyebrows reach his hairline and then drop down several times, and she knows what's to come; he hollers the next verse for the world to hear and for her to laugh.

"Here a quack, there a quack! Everywhere a quack quack! Old Mac Donald…"His horrifying singing prompts her to come up and add her own, blasphemed version of this poor little song. She knows she has lost, even before she opens her mouth and dog-ears her page; it's only a matter of time before the car is filled with laughter and even more horrendous singing.

She is going to milk this, for next school year, before she regresses back to everyday life, books and university.

* * *

"It's a pee-break!"

"Come on papa, you went, like, an hour ago."

"I know. I just… I can't wait any longer! I know I should have listened to you about that last soda, but come on pumpkin." He whines.

She grimly shakes her head. He averts his teary eyes and stays quiet for exactly forty-two seconds.

And then his whimpering resumes. She tries to ignore it. Which is really hard.

…Very hard, indeed. Her eyes find her book in the front mirror.

He suddenly stops after a particularly needy 'pleeeeeease'. It worries her a little–what if The God has gotten finally fed up with her papa and reaped his soul sooner? –but when she looks at him she has to hold back a groan; his eyes grow possibly to the size of saucers when he spots something by the side of the road. "Look! There is a gas station in two and half mile!"

She looks at the passing yellow road sign. _Next gas 2.5 miles._

She white-knuckles the steering wheel, holds her breath and then sighs. It was of no use, really. If she rode over this gas, he would just pester her further, until she stopped on the road, and let herself be cooked in the car, while he attended to his matters. She sighs again.

It's kind of funny how he always manages to twist things his way (like with her mamma, or just afew hours ago, when he put in Enya record and she had to listen repetitively to the same ten songs).

' _Just say it._ ' She thinks.

"…Kay–But, only for ten minutes."

Her papa fist bumps and hisses out 'Yessssss' of victory and makes an imaginary air guitar solo. She rolls her eyes. It was only two days into their trip and he was getting out of hand–and as the matter of fact, on her nerves–with his childish exuberance. Like when he stopped to see the worlds largest Tea cup.

Or the five legged cow.

Which she had to claim the driver-seat after.

No more stupid attractions that were, either, already seen, fake or, yet better, completely horrendous. She shudders at the long lost memory of the two faced goose and tries to avoid any more chill-evoking recalls of things her parents made her see as a kid, deeming it as 'interesting' and 'educational'.

They stop at the gas station after five minutes of silence between them and radio and her dad being super-excited at the prospect of the toilets. Really, he had the buoyancy of a five year old who recently went to Disney Land.

She opens the door–even if she doesn't need to go, why not now? Pee when you have a chance. That's the real military training–and runs for the bathrooms. The pavement, heated up by the sun, burns her feet through her pink flip-flops until she is shadowed by the gas station roof. Her dad is nowhere to be seen, probably hightailing for the toilets the second the tires rolled to a stop. It takes her precisely two minutes in the bathroom–brushing her teeth and all that jazz–before she is running back to the car and reclaiming her possession of The Wheel. Her dad is still not present.

She slowly crawls out, on the look out for any oncoming redheads, and starts to tank the gas. The tank is still halfway full, and they have a few five gallon cans in the back, but it's still safer to tank it full now. Who knew when and where would be the next gas station. Nevada desert was like that. One small mistake of forgetting about the gas and you could wait hours to no end until some benign passing soul stopped to help you.

Needless to say, they made that mistake once and she swore to herself to never let it happen again.

Numbers on the panel continue to turn as the minutes pass by.

She begins to wonder where he could be; the ten minutes pass has already been spent five minutes ago, when she spots him through the glass panels of the gas station, attempting to talk with a busty, twenty something gas-girl with short, choppy pink hair. She thinks her name was Kim, if she remembers correctly her name-tag–she yelled something about 'how can I help you' and 'nice flip-flops' in between her noisy chews on her bubblegum, when Maka flew around her in her hasty scramble for the WC and then for the car–the girl eyes her father, but then shrugs him off and slides the first item towards her to cash it in. Her father continues to talk on, ignoring the girl's obvious indifference.

Probably as obnoxious and trying to play it cool as ever.

Maka gags.

Her eyes snap back to the panel. The tank is full. She takes the fuel nozzle out and hangs it in its proper place, drops of gas splattering on the pavement. She swears she hears them sizzle and evaporate after four seconds leaving her looking at the boring gray of the concrete.

She can't help the turning of her head back to her dad's pitiful attempts.

It's like an soap-opera-ish ship-wreck. Kind of. You can't look away.

Her dad leans on the counter, mountain of sweets and Doritos next to him. The pink haired cashier pops her pink bubblegum and checks in all the Mountain Dew cans, all the while ignoring her papa's musings. She flicks her hair and opens her mouth, and suddenly, this other girl, the one who has been stocking in the freezer with popsicles and other dairy products, her ponytail almost brushing the ground in her crouching position is by her side in an instant, looming dangerously over her father. She must be higher than him by a solid seven inches.

Maka chuckles.

Her father shrinks back at the sight of this super-woman –she cracks her knuckles, a dangerous one, indeed–and quickly takes a plastic bag offered to him by the first girl, stuffing in the sweets.

Maka face-palms and for the lack of any further entertainment climbs back in the car and fiddles around with it. She rearranges her rearview, cleans off the side mirrors and then basically lays down on the dashboard–for better view–to spy on her father further.

He is taking out his wallet, grinning nervously at the tall girl who is holding the shorter maybe-Kim girl around her shoulders protectively, if not a bit possessively. The wallet falls from his hands and he shakily bends down for it. The super-woman's shoulders shake with her repressed laughter.

She considers getting her butt out of her car and helping him out, and maybe apologize to that nice couple for whatever her father has sprouted but, meh. That should teach him a lesson.

He opens the wallet and takes out some cash handing it over to the pink one. She takes the bills, counts through them and says something else outstretching her hand. Spirit looks at her incredulously.

Okay, that will take a few minutes.

Maka looks around, trying to find anything else to entertain herself with, her fingers drumming impatiently on the wheel. Her eyes slowly fall upon the radio, her nervous finger motions falling to death slowly.

Nightmares of 'sail away, sail away, sail away' and 'who can say where the road goes' flood her mind. She grits her teeth. Enya was horrible to listen to for three hours straight.

She looks at her father–he is still arguing about something. Ponytail-girl bares her teeth.

She eyes the radio again.

The eject button is pressed down slowly but forcefully, as if she wanted to crush the radio to bits with a nice portion of hate for each piece; the Enya tape rolls out with a silent rustle. She takes it out.

Her father has stubbornly put it in after nearly too many rounds of good ol'Mac Donald. The music made him all teary, but he still insisted on listening to the whole tape three times in a row–it was some emotional stuff for him and it started to get emotional for her too, just on the other side of the spectrum.

One does not simply stop a father during his 'Enya moment'.

She carefully sticks it in its proper plastic holder, and then tosses it, disgusted, in the back to the general direction of the small dinning table.

She can be stubborn too.

Next five minutes are spent with her counting the tiny spots on the front glass. She loses count after eighty-five and has to start over.

The door opens next to her and a very flustered and sweaty Spirit climbs in. He drops the plastic bag full of goodies on the dash board, two or three popsicles sliding out and landing on the floor. He swears mutely.

"Ready capt'n?" She itches for information of what the hell was going on there, but says nothing. Everything has its time. And, this particular questions will be asked much much time from now on, seeing as her father is still sweating bullets and looking at the store every three seconds.

"Yeah, just . . . take me out of here," he says and then climbs over the gap between the seats."I'm just gonna put these away." He snatches the bag before she can steal anything from it. Damn.

She starts the engine–the raw and content purr of the motor assures her everything is okay with the ' _Mercie_ ', as her father refers to it affectionately and she shifts to drive. Spirit shuffles in the background, opening the fridge and the cupboards. She rides them out slowly from the driveway.

"Cherry or lime?"

"Lime, and thanks."

A green popsicle is thrust into her outstretched and waiting hand. Her dad eats the same flavour when he sits next to her. There are no words between them just this sort of anxious silence she wants to break. She eyes her father from the corner of her eye. He appears to be settling down, his scowl slowly turning to a content smile one achieves when eating something good, precisely a lime flavoured overdose of chemistry in the form of a popsicle.

Okay. She is dropping the bomb right now because she can't wait any more.

"Soooooo, uhh, what happened over there?" She looks at him, her bottom lip sucked in between her teeth and chewed on roughly.

"Maka. No." Spirit deadpans with a serious expression and a lethargic shake of head. "Just. No."

"Oookay." She drawls out and lets the matter be. Even if her brain will probably scratch itself raw with all the scenarios popping out. She wants to pry further, but her papa is reaching for the power button of the radio and she has to stop him quick else–

Only hum greets them.

Her father is silent for a second, pressing the power button repeatedly, whilst her face drains of color. This shouldn't have happened. Spirit taps the button one last time, before coming to terms with a fact that, no, the radio isn't going to start to play, for it doesn't, unbeknownst to Spirit, but beknownst to her, possess the tape anymore.

"Where is the tape? I mean, I'm pretty sure I left it…here…"It's kind of funny seeing his face light up with comprehension as he puts two and two, or maybe the concept of Maka and an empty car together, and he addresses her with a sudden suspicion. "What did you do to it?" His eyes are wide, his sudden fear for the well-being of his prized possession transparent.

"Oh, that old thing?" She laughs humorlessly. "I tossed it out." She flat out informs him all the while watching him for any sudden motions that would threaten the safety of their ride. Mainly things like attempting to wrench the wheel out of her hands, or jumping out of the window. Her father's expression falls, slowly but surely, as well as his mouth eases open, till it, basically, hangs of its hinges.

"You did what?! Pumpkin." He whines and clanks his teeth shut. "That was the best of Enya. Like all the hits. The best songs, ever. How could you–"

She drones out the rest of his whiny speech, as he continues on, and on, and on, only informing him about the whereabouts of the tape when he tries to steal the wheel and throw her out of her seat in a desperate attempt at going back and finding 'the best of the best!' record of all the time.

Needless to say, he ends buckled up, his hands secured for extra measure with her scarf, his expression guilty like one of a first-time hooligan in the police-car, the Enya tape mockingly sitting on the dashboard just out of his reach.

* * *

She is attempting to read when it happens.

First it's only an occasional rumble for about five minutes, and then there is a small 'boom' and suddenly, it's dark, the thick smoke cloaking the front window and obscuring Spirit's view of the road.

Of course, she only gets startled out of her reading reverie when her father shouts a very ugly set of words, and carries out a sharp yank of the wheel to the left. All goes to hell quickly then. The van slides off the road, its inhabitants shouting all the way, some of its contents–books, toiletries, fruits–elevating slowly up and then crashing down. It takes five heart-attack evoking seconds until the vehicle comes to a steering stop, when Spirit, panicked beyond belief, finally manages to stomp on the brakes and stop this death trap. Thank God she has fastened her seatbelt.

Even if the same couldn't go for the rest and the overwhelming majority of their belongings.

There is a belated apple loudly smacking the front window and landing on her knees, and everything becomes eerily silent, safe for the hiss of the motor vomiting the smoke and their combined post-death-threatened panting.

She relaxes her arms, with which she has propped herself up against both, the dashboard and the window. A hand shaped smear appears on the window.

She cringes.

Well, there goes the car.

It was a miracle, really, it has held up for this long. When she thinks about it, this was bound to happen someday. With the amount of times Spirit took it to his work and then did God knows what on the deserted streets of Death city? Yeah. A miracle. A miracle from the heavens.

Spirit robotically turns to his left to give her a blank look, his eyes bulged out and mouth open, and then it all comes crashing onto him.

His van, the vehicle he has used for twelve years, the car with so many memories soaked up inside, the car that had seen the good times with her mamma and the bad times with her car-sicknesses, _his baby, his Mercie,_ has finally gotten fed up with his antics and decided to leave then hanging in the middle of nowhere. And, apparently, for the good.

Of course the car had been repaired four or five times. She used to be a kid, and as a brat, it was given she would break something from time to time. Once she broke the lock on the door in the middle of the van, and they had to climb into the car by the front door the whole summer. And once they even had to replace something on the crankshaft–she is not sure what though, these things are not her strong point–but it has never appeared to be damaged to this extent. Never with a smoke and an emergency stop.

She looks at her dad. Spirit is taking it, surprisingly, better than she would ever think he would. She has always pictured him running rampant and causing a racket if something like this happened.

He is softly murmuring and cooing something she can't quite make out besides sighs of 'otherwise known as Arisa' and 'why would you leave me?', caressing the wheel with his palm. She quickly averts her eyes from this 'car bonding', opens her door and slides out of her seat.

The soil crunches under her feet, small rocks shifting under her weight, the harsh nevada sun beating on her skin the instant she sets a foot outside the shade the dead car provided. They have stopped six or seven feet from the road, thick tire prints indicating precisely where the incident has taken place.

She shades her eyes against the sun with her palm and proceeds to open the front of the car, the thick smoke surging out. She coughs a few times and waves her hand in vain attempt to clear the smog, giving up when it doesn't seem to thin even a little after two minutes.

She backs away a few steps, her eyes watery and her throat raw, deciding to let the motor be and breathe, for a change, the hot but clean air.

Surely they must have alerted someone with their wild, off-road crash. Someone will surely go by and help them.

No?

She sits down on the hard ground and turns her face towards the sun.

What now? There is no way she can fix this. There was only a limited course of capabilities she could perform. Rescuing a person from the thugs and beating his ass while she was at it? Of course, she can manage that. Giving a CPR? Certainly. Reading through the whole Edgar Alan Poe collection in two days? As you please. But ... This? She was so technically inept she couldn't sometimes even get her computer to start. Well it usually managed to start up after few good and menacing punches, but this was an entirely different matter. No way in hell she could fix this. She hangs her head in defeat.

…But what about her papa? Her eyes widen with a sudden hope. Yeah, her papa! He always talks about cars and motors and all that stupid little things surrounding them! She completely forgot about him!

She jumps up, giddiness coursing through system, her renewed vigor pushing her to skip all the way to their van.

She throws the door on her father's side open and is left staring at an empty seat. What the-?

She climbs in with some effort–the platform is high–huffing impatiently when she peeps at the inside of the car from behind the back rest. Enya and her songs are back with full power. That can only mean one thing.

Her father has his moment and is A) mourning the car in the solitude of the bedroom, moping or crying, or B) already drinking a toast to the imaginary funeral of the good old Mercie van. The second option is confirmed when she shoulders through the front seats and dives into the van, spotting him crouching by the tiny fridge, bottle of Pinot Noir already open and on its way to his mouth.

"Papa…Papa!" She shouts at him when he doesn't seem to acknowledge her, and she strides two long steps to wrest the bottle out of his hands.

"Papa. Don't give up on her. I mean, she is not dead, yet. You know much about the cars don't you? You can fix her!"

Spirit glares at her from the bottom, outstretching his hand and snagging the bottle from him again. He takes a generous gulp before he stands up, setting the wine on the fridge.

"It's not the same knowing how things work, and actually knowing how to repair them, pumpkin." She can see in the set of his brows he is serious; apparently, this situation was clear to him from the start.

"Then, we have to get her fixed!"

"And how would we do that?" His voice is silent, troubled. "We are in Nevada, in a friggin' dessert, pumpkin. How will we get to the nearest car service?"

That gets her to the ground. She feels the last shred of hope she was clinging onto so desperately dissipate in a puff of smoke.

"I-I don't know yet, we just need to think a little…There must be something–"

Her papa leans on the small counter, folding his arms on his chest. He sighs loudly.

"We have to face the reality: we can't get out of here till someone passes us and will be kind enough to stop and pull us to the nearest service." He makes a small pause, sighing again. "Uhh, can you be the first one to watch the road? Papa-Papa has some matters to attend to, okay honey?"

She nods mutely.

"Great." He kisses her forehead and turns his back to her. "I will be in the back if you need me." He takes the bottle with himself, and goes to the bedroom, silently clicking the door sliders shut.

She waits a few seconds after she hears the bed creak under his weight, and mutters 'amazing. Now what?' under her breath. She drags her palms across her face; better go and hitch hike them a saviour.

She takes her cap on her way out, her phone, her book and a bottle of water. Clock above the middle door assures her it's two pm, and that she should, probably, find a nice sitting spot somewhere in the shadow lest she gets cooked. She jumps down, once again meeting the heat, and plops down on the side of the vehicle that's facing the road. She outstretches her legs, the car shadow coming only to her knees, and starts to observe the roads carefully.

* * *

It's barely an hour into her watch when she takes her mobile phone to her hands–the boredom has been too much, three cars have barely passed by and no one seemed to be bothered by a big van off the road with traces of smoke still visible–and scrolls leisurely through her texts. Her phones vibrates indicating it's low on the battery and–

...Her phone. Wait.

Suddenly, she is greeted by an idea. A sudden enlightenment from the God above them. Why didn't she get this idea sooner? Of course her phone has maps, and she can look where exactly they were, and if she remembers correctly, they used to camp alongside Tahoe, and that shouldn't be too far from their position-

"Papa! PAPA!" She shouts, quickly disentangling her limbs and running for the doors. She is in the middle of hoisting herself up into the van, when her father reappears from the bedroom, horror evident in his face.

"Maka!? What? What's happening?"

"Dad! Get the map! I think I've got it!" She shouts over her shoulder, already jumping out of the car and whipping her phone out of her pocket. She unlocks it, turns on her mobile data and opens the maps, seeing her current location.

Her father stops beside her, panting roughly, thrusting the paper map in her arms. She plops down on the ground once again, spreading the map in front of her. Spirit sits down next to her. She quickly angles the map right and gazes a few seconds at her phone.

Her father follows her actions speechlessly. "Maka, what is this about–"

"Do you remember," She rudely interrupts him, "when you told me about two hours ago that we used to go camp near the Tahoe lake for a few days some years ago, until that new highway was built and then we never went there again? Do you?"

"Yes, I do, but–"

"Well, look at this." She shoves her phone in his face, but takes it back before he can really make out anything else than an indifferent yellow-green smudge.

"I've looked up our location and we are about thirty miles from the first camp." She jabs a finger on the map spread in front of her, pointing at a point on a Road 55, that's neither far away, nor too close to the lake itself. She traces the faint outline of the road they are on in the direction of the lake.

"And then I've remembered how you would always talk to that grey-haired camp manager, you know, Stein, and I thought, why the hell not? Do you still have his number? I think we can call him. And you can just ask for favor from a long-term friend, and he can come and pick us up and–"

"Stop!" Spirit shouts. "You are talking too quickly. Just breathe in," he takesa deep breath, motioning with his hands too, "and slow down." He gives her a meaningful look and she nods in agreement. Her excitement sometimes got too much of her.

She starts slowly this time, putting effort into properly articulating her words. "Okay, well, we are about half an hour from our ex-destination, and I think you should call the owner, if you still have his number, to come pick us up, and tow Arisa in the camp, where we can get her fixed, and–"

She watches the grin on his face spread form ear to ear as he reaches out to ruffle her hair. "Smart girl. I knew you would get us out of here." Okay, she's pretty sure an hour ago he was on altogether different page. "Let me get my phone. I think I have his number. Well, if it hasn't changed. . ."

He runs to the vehicle, stroking its orange paint fondly before disappearing into the depths of the car.

She leans back on her arms, throwing her head back in laughter, when she hears his muffled shout of victory, and then he clambers from the car to stop beside her.

"I've got it!" He shakes the phone in his hands and then quickly presses down few buttons–her papa still has one of those shitty indestructible phones, refusing to buy a new one when his old one was still working–and dials presumably Stein's number. It beeps a few times, she and her father exchanging numerous nervous glances–

"Hello. How can I help you?" A deep, rough voice greets them. She exhales happily, whilst Spirit shouts his greeting, not at all aware of the level of the noise he is making.

"Hello?" The voice is uncertain. "Is this some joke because I swear to Death I will find you and–"

"No! No. Hey Stein it's me..." Her father quickly clears up things with him, and then their conversation goes to the direction they needed it to go.

Spirit ends the call with a triumphant sigh and grins at her.

"We just got our ride out of hell."

And thus, the ride of her summer began.


	2. Chapter 2

"Thanks Stein. I mean for the ride and stuff. . . Uhh. What was the name of that guy who towed us again?"

"...It's Kilik."

"I-uhh, yeah. Umm, please, send him my regards. Mhmm, yeah."

Silence fills the room, disturbed only by the periodic ticking of the giant clock to her left. She settles deeper in the old sofa and tries to ignore her urge to flee. The man, Stein, was a weird fellow. He was curt with his words, a complete opposite to her father, and appeared to harbor a strange hobby of collecting dead things and animal–at least she hoped they were body-parts of animal-origin.

She looks at the two men sitting opposite of each other, with one of them opening and closing his mouth every few seconds, as if in want to say something and break the uncomfortable silence. The other was just sitting, legs crossed at ankles and sipping at his coffee, completely ignorant of the rather awkward situation. Even the small boy sitting next to him–Stein's son, with no doubt, he kept looking at her with the same sick interest that was just, really uncommon for a child of his age–he seemed to pick on the unnerving silence, glancing to and forth from Spirit and Stein.

Really, how did they, her papa and doctor Frank Stein, managed to get along back in their days of police fame? It was said they were an unstoppable combo: Stein with his forensics and her dad with his accurate assumptions and sixth-sense. Other than that she could never fathom how their clashing personalities did never break something apart.

The stuffed bear keeps looking at her with its glassy stare, and the dim, orange light of the fading day reflecting in his eyes makes it look a lot like the real deal. His mouth is forever warped in a silent roar. There is a moose head right next to it. And, next to it a stuffed goose. And, on the shelf a fox.

Big hand on the clock reaches twelve and a cuckoo jumps out, signaling it's seven o'clock. For her own saneness she hopes the small bird is wooden.

She grips the glass of orange juice tight in her hands and, for the lack of any interesting diversions that would distract her from questioning how and just when the stuffed bear will return from the dead, begins to examine the opposite side of the room that thankfully, isn't stuffed with dead animals. She scans the walls, her gaze falling from one weirder thing to another. Was that a dissected frog in alcohol?

"So, I heard you and Marrie got married, hm?"

"And _I_ heard you and Kami got divorced."

"I-Ehh, I–yeah." Her father casts down his eyes. She turns back after few seconds of affirming that he is okay to examining what is probably a stomach and the beginning of the small intestine of the poor frog. In macabre awe, mind you.

"Yeah, we got divorced. Six years ago. It's–I mean–"

Yeah it definitely is its stomach and those are the intestines that she, at first, confused for some kind of fabric, floating in the yellow liquid of acetylene.

She will have some quality night sleep next time.

Her father clears his throat finally mustering up enough courage to add something else or compliment on the spooky inner decoration. She seizes her chances, calculates a positive outcome and stands up, interrupting her father in the middle of his 'You've a really nice house' insincere pleasantry. "You have it nice he–"

"Oh, I'm sorry, Stein, dad, I," she stutters when Stein provides her with a calm but questioning stare, the boy next to him looking at her the same way as his father–the same head tilt and squinted eyes–and she has to gulp down and try again, her voice getting perceptibly higher in pitch.

"I–I juts remembered that I left the car window open," she smiles tightly, "I should go and check it, no? Don't worry I will see myself out. It was nice meeting you, mister Stein, and your son, of course," she smiles at the boy in question, "and, uh, thank you again, and, um, goodbye."

"Maka? Maka!"

"Bye dad! I will see you later!"

She walks around the couch, two grey heads turning to watch her every move, and one red head frantically attempting to catch her attention and hint that maybe she shouldn't leave him here, and for the love of God, help him get out too in the same unsuspecting way.

She only finally sags in relief, after she closes the net door, and hops off the porch onto the soft green grass.

"What to do now?" She swings on the soles of her feet, her arms moving to and fro with the movement of her body.

The air is pleasantly warm on her bare legs and shoulders, and she closes her eyes for a second to savor the moment.

One of the many disadvantages of living basically in a desert is that you almost never get to see living greenery and she doesn't mean small park they had back in Death City, or the plants that could be seen from the windows of the first floor flats, or the occasional dry shrubs by the roads, no, she means actual greenery. Tall and graceful pines, small grass and the ever present hum of life.

The forest is beautiful.

She remembers why they went here all those times. The beautiful smell, chirping of birds, humidity in the air. . . Well, no wonder her mama deemed it her favourite place in the world. She quickly discards her flip-flops, burrowing her toes in the moist choppy grass, props her arms on her hips and breaths in a lungful of the wonderful clean air.

So this was lake Tahoe.

She opens her eyes again.

"What should I do?" She says, more to herself, not for the ears of anyone else.

Of course she is going to see the lake first. Well, after she takes few things from the car first. The keys dangle from her fingers, shining with the scarce rays that have managed to shine through the tall pine trees.

She slips on her flips and starts to leisurely walk to the park-site.

* * *

She spends the rest of her day laying here and there, reading the book she brought with her from the car, and familiarizing with the camp site, along with the very few facilities that laid on the grounds, mainly the small restaurant, the public baths and she even popped inside the small repair shop.

She kicks at the dusty walkway, nuzzling into her hoodie, she has been, thankfully, cautious to bring with herself. Goosebumps raise on her bare legs–"Ugh, stupid chicken legs!"–and she picks up on pace. The night is close, but the night life is just starting. On her way here she has spotted at least three couples on their way out – she is not envious. Not at all. There has never been a second in the twenty years of her life she has been envious of lovely couples. Not even once. She swears – heading for the restaurant, or just for a nice walk. Maybe for a nightly dip in the lake, just for the hell of it.

She stomps down a few times, rumbles and continues her walk to the car. Or should she call it home for the time being? If she remembers correctly, now she should turn to the left, just behind this red Toyota, and the car should be right there–

Her Mercie comes into sight.

She resists the urge to skip.

Fails to do so.

"Oh, my little honey boo-boo. Were you sad without your mommy here? Were you? Ohh, cutie pie!" She looks around for any possible witnesses. Her baby talks with car were rare occasions, only few and far between because she liked to pretend someone as rational–as she liked to think about herself–as her would never and under any circumstances stoop down to baby talking a car.

"Oh, my death! You, Mercie are soooo beautiful." She crouches down, beside the front right wheel, where it was estimated to always set aside the keys. She pats around a few times, combing through the grass with her fingers and comes up empty-handed.

"What the? I'm pretty sure I've left them there–" She spots an open window. What? She was also pretty sure she has closed each and every one of them! And that meant just one thing–

"Dad!" She shouts, simultaneously jumping up. "Dad! I know you are in there. Open up! It' me, Maka!"

No one answers. She bangs on the door.

"Dad! Okay, look. I'm sorry I left you there, okay? Now open up!" Really, her dad. . . But it is weird for him to leave her hanging like this for more than three minutes. Her father wouldn't be capable of doing such a thing to his sweet precious angel. She rolls her eyes nervously.

"Dad?"

Still no answer. That means he is either not there or he is sleeping. She bangs on the door few times, louder than before.

Okay, so he is not in here. Her banging would have woken up even a bear during its hibernation. That brings her to: are there any bears in the vicinity of the camp?

Suddenly it struck her. Her Papa has surely been in the car before she came, and seeing as nobody is home at this time, surely, he must have left for a drink, and her papa, being her Papa must have forgotten this one thing. Where to, and where never to put the keys.

They were just heading for Steins cabin, when her papa tried to leave the keys on the spot she absolutely hated the most: the roof of the car. Firstly, it was the most common place to put your keys, so if any burglar came they would be screwed, and secondly, and more importantly, she couldn't reach there without first climbing up the car like a stupid little monkey. So sue her for being small.

 _"Pa!? What did I tell you about the keys? If you put them on the roof I can't reach them!"_

 _"Oh, donchu worry my sweet little angel," he pulls at her cheeks, "your papa will be here to save you. I wouldn't leave my daughter in a distress."_

She has accentuated this little fact at least one hundred and eighty times over the course of the last three years.

"Gosh! Dad. Darn it." She drags her palms across her face, pulling at her cheeks. "Chicken shit. Chicken shit!" She relieves herself with a few more nice words and then sags in defeat.

"Darn!" And with this last one she sets to work.

"Oh. I'm sorry baby boo-boo. I don't want to step all over you." She coos as she sets her food on door platform and grips the upsides of the door. She raises her hands up, and starts to pat around on the roof.

Her fingers hit something and she successfully slides the keys further to the middle of the van.

She really has no time for this. She chucks down her flops and puts one foot on the doorknob, pulling herself up.

"Almost, almost. Come on! I've. Got. You."

"Should I call someone? Like the patrol officer or just, directly, the police?

And she stops, her limbs freezing halfway in their wake, as she suddenly whips around.

* * *

The light of the lamp that is right behind his back, illuminates her face; he meets her eyes, their toxic green the most beautiful and currently maybe the deadliest shade of green he has ever seen. She slits them, pretty doll eyes, and he becomes painfully aware that maybe he should have left this girl burglar alone, lest she whips a gun from her pocket and shoots him right here and now, as his muddled brain helpfully chirps. He shakes his head a little, trying to clear the fog that has, clearly, swallowed all of his, even previously lacking, brain cells.

She jumps down from the van, landing safely on the ground with a soft thump, small pines snapping under her petite weight, and swings on the soles of her feet. And he can't help but think that she can't be some hooligan he took her for when he first saw her acrobatic creations on the van because she suddenly looks all innocent, with the way her hands swing forward and then come to clasp together behind her back.

She smiles up at him–really, she is just plainly tiny compared to him, a five foot something thing–and he has to gulp down a frown. He poked at a little girl that looks about as ready to kick ass–his ass–as he is about to turn around and run for his life.

Maybe he is just being paranoid. Smoking pot always makes you paranoid.

...But maybe it was justified, right now, at this moment and with this girl.

He should have just let her be.

Her notices her smile is rather tight and that it doesn't reflect in her eyes. At all. Fuck.

"What would you know about it? For all I know you could be the one that is here to rob me." She hisses back, and it reminds him of a cat, no, better, of a tiger ready to attack, its back curled, and fur standing erect. So no, it wasn't paranoia, and yes, it was him just being reckless and interfering with what he shouldn't because these things really weren't in his best interest.

For some reason it is ridiculously funny–the thought of this tiny girl leaping onto him–his chuckles breeding in his throat and getting ready to be spilled carelessly into her face.

Who the hell was this man? She squints up at him. He is big, a giant compared to her, tall and his frame lean, but she could probably take him out in the battle if needed. One nice kick in the stomach and he would easily bend over, and enable her access to his face to work her magic on it. She slowly moves her foot back, acquiring a better leaping stance.

"Chill it lady," he drawls out, his voice bored and low. It's _too slow_ , she grows suspicious, far too sluggish for him to be clean. She guesses it for alcohol, but then again he was standing eerily still to be drunk. "Don't get your panties in a twist, I mean no harm." To prove his point he raises his hands above his head and chuckles.

She looks at him incredulously, trying to comprehend just was his problem. It's not helping at all that she can't make out his face with his beanie and a hood pulled over his head and the light blinding her. At this point he is just a dark figure with bittersweet, deep voice that makes her want to see just how he really looks like, wants to observe this stranger who only maybe wanted to help someone, but instead got in her way.

"Okay, look. It's not your problem, but even then, _this is my van_. I sleep here, and live here for the next month and half. I was just trying to reach the keys my idiot of a papa put on the roof, and if _you haven't noticed_ , I kind of can't reach there without climbing up first–hey, are you laughing!?

He bursts into laughter, sidestepping so she can, suddenly, make out his face, his sharp toothed grin that grows into a snort and then full-blown laughter, his eyes screwed shut, and tufts of white hair–white, she notices, white like snow she saw only two times in her entire life–sticking from his beanie. It strikes her, even when he is laughing like an idiot that he is strangely handsome, with his high cheekbones and tan skin. Does he possess some weird genetics or is he just bleaching his hair? She guesses it for the latter.

"Are you stoned?" She deadpans, and doesn't mean it at all, but guessing by the way he looks at her, silent for a moment before he bursts laughing again–his eyes are dark red to her surprise, almost mahogany, like old blood–she hit the bull's-eye.

Her brain signals her red lights, and she backs up.

"You are clearly stoned. I shall call someone." She turns around, wary to turn her back to him, and ready to fetch the keys, when he abruptly stops his laugh fit. She looks at him and, to her surprise, he appears to be calm again, only mirth swirling in his eyes, and the corners of his mouth curling upwards.

"Okay, hey, no need to resort to such a drastic," he cringes at the thought, "measures. You were saying something about car keys?" Nice save. He pats himself on the back, of course only imaginary, repressing his laughter at the thought of reaching behind and really patting himself on the shoulder.

"What, now you want to help me?"

"Uh, yeah sure. I mean, why not?" He utters a short laugh, bending his head down, and lifting his eyes at her. He resembles her a dog, a small puppy that looks equal part guilty and equal part playful.

She eyes him, suspicious beyond belief, but then realizes that if he tried something funny it wouldn't be such a problem to either beat him on the knees herself or call for help. After all, they were surrounded by other campers and she has the scream of a banshee. "Okay." She sidesteps, giving him more place to approach her.

"They should be right there, on top."

The guy–she still doesn't know his name, and won't ever do–stops beside her giving her last meaningful look, before he turns to her van and stretches his arm up–he also straightens his slouch and she becomes aware just how _tall_ he is, really, _wow_ –his hand disappearing behind the edge of the roof. He pats the surface few times, then his hand comes back, the keys dangling from his fingers. He shakes them mockingly into her face and she snatches them from him. He snorts.

"Thanks." And she grins because why not. He may be a stoned stranger, but a person who went out of his way to help her, nevertheless. She could see he meant no harm.

"No problem," he responds easily, and she grins at him even more, and, of course, he being him, has to be his idiotic self, shrinking back at the sight of a pretty girl smiling at him, and destroys it everything."Tiny-tits."

And her grin freezes on her face. Crap.

"Soul! Come on man. Where are you?! Your god demands to know! Kilik is waiting for us, duuude, you have to check out what he got this time!" And leave it to his stupid friend to save his ass, as he did countless times before. Sometimes he had to leave it to him; Star was a life saviour.

The girl leans to her side to peer over him, curious as to find what kind of a monster has generated this level of noise and he quickly backs up while she is distracted.

"Oh, well, it was nice meeting you and all, but I've gotta go now, so. Uh, yeah." He finishes off lamely. He waves at her and turns on his heel, casually strolling away from her before his ogre of a friend could find him and damn them both to hell. Something told him that this girl just wouldn't let slide two stoned dudes walking around the camp, without first stirring the waters a little.

"Thanks." She shouts after him.

"No big deal, Pigtails. See ya" He throws over his shoulder, and manages to hear her growl before he finally escapes around the corner of another camping van, this time the red Toyota, congratulating himself on evading her wrath so smoothly.

"Huh. I highly doubt we will see each other again." He mutters under his breath; after all the park was huge, so what were the odds he would ever meet her again? He takes another turn and finds the creator of all the noise, who throws an arm around his shoulder and drags him who knows where, all the while blabbering about meaningless things as only Star could manage.

"What an oddball." She mutters to no one in general watching the car he has disappeared behind few more minutes after all the ruckus created by his friend dies. She shrugs then and gives a look to the keys in her hand. She grips them in her fist and turns around, opening the car and disappearing inside. Hopefully she won't meet him again. After all the park was huge enough, so the odds were in her favor, no?

* * *

She smacks around herself, her phone ringing in just a small distance from her. "Stupid, shitty phone."

 _She heard their giggles and felt the hot moist air on her naked skin. The hall was dark, not even one lamp to fight the shadow present. Her flip-flops made a squeaky noise on the wet floor and she almost slipped, catching herself against the white tiles of the bathroom wall. Her towel, rough and scratchy from all the times she hadn't put enough detergent to the laundry, almost fell from her chest. She had to juggle wildly the mountain of her clothes in her arms to catch the traitor on his slide down. Her sweatshirt escaped her hold and one of the sleeves fell right in a small pool of water by her feet. She cursed silently._

 _"Great." She quickly pulled it up, examining the damage. It was wet maybe up to the elbow. She tried to wring, but it still came out wet._

 _This was just not her day._

 _She adjusted her towel, double-checked the tight knot she had made on it for extra measure and opened the bathroom door, the sharp light blinding her for a second._

Her fingers finally hit the hard plastic of her buzzing phone. Her eyes protest when she thrusts the screen up to her face. It takes a few seconds for her sight to adjust and make out the faint outlines of the letters that blink on her phone. It's four am. With a groan she rolls out of the bed.

 _What first hit her was the hot wave of air, and then the intense mix of various shampoo and body wash smells. She took a step inside, softly clicking the doors shut. Water was everywhere, a big soapy pond in the middle of the floor. Bathroom was divided in numerous stalls, currently occupied with bathing women in various states of nudity, some of them wearing bath suits–why hadn't she brought hers?–some of the confident ones completely naked. They all turned their heads when she walked in, but turned their attention back almost immediately when they realized she is one of them rather than some daring pervert. She walked in between the stalls, determination set in her features to not look left or right. She found an empty stall between the one occupied by a japanese girl with long black hair in a full body swimsuit and a busty naked woman with cat ears on her head. She chose not to question it and quickly discarded her towel on one of the hooks on the wall._

 _She has ever been to a public bathroom once, four or five years ago in Japan, on one of her very few trips with her mom, after the divorce. Come to think of it that was the last time she and her mom ever went somewhere together. It has been a rather uncomfortable experience. And seeing as the growth in the chest department hasn't progressed at all since she was thirteen, it was going to be uncomfortable this time again._

It's kind of hard to navigate through the darkness, but she would rather choose not to wake Spirit up and stab her toe on something, than have him following after her. She finds a cloth on the floor and by groping it determines it's her beanie. She pulls on shorts she finds next to it.

 _The hot water was heaven. She could already feel her muscles relaxing. Long rides in cars were always the worst. She turned around intent on looking for a body wash, but got greeted by a purple head looking at her instead._

 _"Oh, hey I haven't seen you around here. Are you a newcomer?" The busty woman popped her head in Maka's stall. She almost yelped from shock, her hands coming to wrap protectively around her chest._

 _"Ah. Yes. I am. I am." She stuttered when the purple haired woman took a few steps in her direction, coming dangerously close to trespassing her personal space. No one came into her personal space. Ever. She had been almost obsessively crazy about it since that one time in her grade school her stupid friend of Blake ran in on her and few various girls taking a shower after her swimming practice._

 _It was her personal space and her's only._

 _"Oh, honey. Hello! I'm Blair. Nice to meet you!" She thrust her hands to Maka, and yep there it is, the cat women could be officially dubbed as the Official Space Invader. She unglued both of Maka's arms stuck to her body and shook them enthusiastically not minding Maka's huge shocked eyes._

 _"You are so cute kitty. Where is your mommy? Is she not here? Blair will wash your back!" The woman shouted excitedly, pulling on Maka's cheeks, and almost immediately reached for a body wash._

 _"No. No! No need to. I'm already going-"_

 _"Come on Blair, don't abuse her. Don't you see you are making her uncomfortable?" The tall japanese girl appeared around the corner. Maka smiled graciously at her, already grabbing her towel and walking around the purple haired woman."Thank you for your offer, but I'm already done. Thanks."_

 _She tied the towel around herself, and hurried out only offering a thankful smile to the dark haired girl. What she couldn't see was the japanese girl hissing out 'Blair!' at the cat woman and smacking her softly on her arm._

She tiptoes out of the door and shuts it silently behind her. Like a ninja.

She hums the tune from mission impossible and even goes as far jump around corners with her fingers pointing like a gun, the darkness of the night covering her role-play.

It takes her almost fifteen minutes to get her ass to the bathrooms, and only after turning three times in the wrong direction and coming face-to-face with an obnoxious purple and orange van. The keys–the wonderful luxury of baths came automatically with paying the camp fees–jingle silently when she slides them in their proper hole. She exhales quietly, mission impossible tune reaching the crescendo in her head, and opens the door, freezing up when they creak, the noise ringing through the darkness like a gun shot.

She slides inside, locking the door behind her and gropes the walls for the switch. Her fingers hit something and suddenly, she can see clear as day again.

She opens the doors to her left, dubbed as the girl's change room with a small figure in skirt, avoiding looking on the right side, where the men's locker room are. She has almost made a mistake last night when she nearly opened the wrong door, only getting stopped by a fellow female bathroom user coming out of the girl's dressing room.

She lights the room up and sets her things aside on a bench.

She walks out three minutes later, phone in her right hand and a new bottle of shampoo in the left, full and ready to be used. She sighs as she eyes the sterile looking hallway. It looks like a scene from horror movie. Sharp, white light shining from one flickering lamp that glistens on the tile walls and floor and beyond that, a dark hole, swallowing up the rest of the hall like a giant mouth.

The hallway becomes gradually darker and darker with each step she takes away from the one and only light installed by the door. She turns left and even the rest of the feeble light disappears. She unlocks her phone and tries to lighten the passage so she would at least see under her feet. Her flip-flops squeak when she steps in puddles of cold water, her reflection getting lost in the endless circles by her feet. She walks around the men's bathroom–that means the women's should be close too–Her phone slides from her fingers and with a clatter falls right in the pond. It becomes awfully dark after. With a shout she falls to her knees. Just her luck. Just her dumb luck.

She finds the phone and after a few minutes of blind and panicked searching, also the battery. With shaking hands she puts it inside and hits the power button. Nothing happens. Her phone almost meets the floor again when she brings her hand down, about to throw it on the wall in rage. She stops in last moment, apathy flooding her veins. There is no use in throwing a fit now, no?

She stands up, reaching out for the wall to steady herself. Her eyes adjust after few minutes, and she continues, her finger touching the slick walls for guide. She continues in the same direction–at least she thinks it's the same direction, her sense of navigation has gotten awfully quiet in this darkness and she almost misses it–the uneven feeling of wood under her fingers, the slight pain when her knuckles hit the knob–she nearly shouts in victory when she throws the door open. The room is full of light-oh my Death, light! Finally!-and she hears water running. She quickly slips in, figuring out it must be just a lone rider like herself taking a shower in the midst of the night.

* * *

He turns the water more hot, leaning forward and letting it spray on back. His hair gets plastered to his forehead and he sweeps it back, then leans on his arm again.

Water feels like heaven. He could feel the knots in his back already unravelling and he rolls his shoulders few times.

Black Star always found the most uncommon and probably even the most uncomfortable of places for his illegal activities. No, they couldn't smoke in the van because Stein would find out, and if Stein found out, it would be royal problem. There was a reason why they got lost once in the forest, why Kilik had to get three stitches after he cut his forearm on a wire in abandoned lake cabin, and why he now has a fucking back cramp like an old man after sitting three hours crammed with his knees under his chin in a small tree house with five other dudes. Not that he was complaining at the time. But fuck, the aftermath? It was the worst.

Especially if the quality wasn't that good to begin with.

It was a wonder how that monkey of a man Black Star never seemed to show any sighs of being wasted the day after a smoke out. He himself, on the other hand, seemed to have a hangover no matter what little amount he smoked or the quality provided. But that was the price he was willing to pay for a brief second of neglect and carelesness – that could result in happiness, if he squinted hard enough – the ganja provided: he was lost and maybe even addicted, but it didn't matter. His life was a load of bull crap and this was his only was of loosening up.

Soul sighs and drags a palm across his face.

A thud startles him out of his trying-to-get-his-shit-together treatment. His senses are still a bit dull, but he has already come out of the fog that has enveloped and embraced his whole world just hours ago. He turns after the sound, but then relaxes – it must be other person just taking a shower like him. There is nothing wrong with that. He stops the water, takes a bar of soap and starts washing the grime and smell of smoke of his body.

He hears the shower, probably three or four stalls down from him, turn on and he smiles to himself. It must be one of his friends – maybe Harvar? The dude's eyes always got an angry red, and taking a shower supposedly helped him calm the itch down.

Soul stops the water and brushes back the lone strands of hair from his face.

He walks out of the stall blinking out the water from his eyes, trying to rub it out while simultaneously reaching blindly for the towel he always hangs on the hook left to the stall. His hand slaps against the wet cold wall.

After opening his eyes it is confirmed: he has forgotten the towel. Fuck his muddled brain.

He leans out of his stall. The bathroom is glistening with the fog of his shower. He is getting awfully cold; goosebumps rise on his chest and arms. He doesn't want to imagine what his legs must look like right now. In the same row, just two stall down, he spots a green smudge –the fog is making it really hard to see –hanging on the racks.

...Harvar won't mind, right?

And if by any chance he does, Soul could just go and fetch the towel he has forgotten in the dressing room, no?

He stalks down the corridor and takes the towel, careful as to not peer in the stall. As much as he likes his friends, he is not interested in a dick-flash, thank you. He dries his face first and then ties the towel around his hips. Despite its fluffy look, the towel is rough and scratchy on his skin. It's not nice. Sue him for liking his things pleasant to touch. Fog is beginning to materialize, few drops already gliding down the walls. He reaches out, tracing the hollow lines with his finger. He hears the person squeeze a bottle–the substance squirts–and start humming terribly off tune. The voice is strangely feminine, but he gives it no thought.

He should have.

"Harvar. Sorry bro. I borrowed your towel and-"

"What the-AHHHHHHH!"

And a blond head peaks around the corner screaming his ears off. Very big and very green and very shocked eyes look at him, small mouth open in shock long after all the air needed for noise escapes her lungs. She clicks it shut, and the very big and very green and very beautiful eyes turn venomous, she sucks in air, and in the mean second she is silent he manages to utter an entirely useless: "What the fuck."

A small fist comes flying around the corner, so fast the only thing he manages to register is a smudge and the sound of sound barrier being broken, before his head snaps back and his nose signals one big red 'Ouch!'. He curls inwards immediately, trying to helplessly salvage the situation by gripping the bridge of his bleeding nose and shouting out apologies mixed with curses, while the girl goes off on a rampage.

"I haven't seen anything, oh my god, I haven't seen anything. Darn. Ouch. Fuck. You are like a bear or something, what the hell? Fuck. I'm so sorry. What the fuck-"

"... _youlowlymammal,_ _ **I'mgoingtocastrateyou**_ _,youhearme?Fuckingpervert,seehowI'mgonnareportyou,don'tyou_ _ **fucking**_ _moveaninch-"_

He straightens up, squinting through teary eyes at the woman–no, a chick–with the power of four bears and voice of a sirena that's down with a cold, that somehow still managed to be bloodcurdling intimidating with only a head and one fist poking from around the corner. And he couldn't even focus on his eyes on her. She waves her fist menacingly in his face – _I'msofillingoutanreport_ – she takes a breath – _thefirstthingtomorrowmorning –_ and he backs up, figuring she wouldn't dare to get out of the stall and beat him to pulp if it meant he would get to see more of her naked glory.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry-"He uncovers his face, his blood dripping and dissolving in the pools of water on the floor. The sound of water running is a weird background noise, and the fog thicker and thicker by second covers them like a comforting hot blanket, and this seems just like _some bad dream_ produced by his sex-deprived brain, because, this can't be happening for real. Wasn't this like something that happened only in porn? Dude ran in on girl and then they had loads and loads of wild sex in showers? As far as he is concerned he hasn't signed up for something like this.

" _Gah! Don't look! Oh my god, turn around_ -" She rips his ears.

"I didn't see anything, I swear! I didn't see anything!"

"Don't look, _don't look, don't look!"_ There is a pause, and he hears the person take a breath and a strangely accusatory 'You!' leaves the girl's mouth. Her voice echoes of the walls and repetitions of ' _you,you,you_ ' corner him in like some afraid little fish in the sea of fog.

His vision clears and what he sees makes his mind go momentarily blank – it's the burglar girl. And by the fiery look that she gives him that makes the fine hairs on the back of his neck stand, she has recognized him too. "So, not only you are a marijuana smoker, which is illegal by the way, but you also come to peek at girls while they are showering? That's illegal in some countries, you know? And-and give me back my towel!" She stutters out the last part.

The light refracting on the droplets makes her face weirdly angular, outstanding from the soft white of the fog; her jaw is firmly set, and her cheeks are red and he just wants to flee.

He feels the heat rush up to his face, and probably the rest of his body at her order. He doesn't know what compels him to do so, to listen to this mean, evil, short girl, but he obeys her without a word, flaming up when her eyes become, somehow, unbelievably larger than they already are, when she realizes that she has just brought doom over her. His hands reach for the knot he has made on the towel. He waggles his brows, but it probably cancels out with his red face, so he adds lamely because he never knows when to stop: "so you want me to undress for you?" And, oh god, he has made it worse.

Her face immediately contracts with something akin to horror and he would like to pretend the disgusted grunt she lets out hasn't ever been directed at him. He would also like to pretend his gaze never slid down the delicate curve of her neck and all the way to the visible parts of her body. _He is not a pervert._

 _'I am not a prevert.'_

Okay, maybe he is, just a bit, but hey, isn't every dude a closet one anyway?

She blushes pretty pink, at least her collarbones and that one exposed shoulder do – her face color comes alarmingly close to the color of lava that, truthfully, matches his own. He pries his eyes of her creamy skin and forces himself to look at her horrified face.

"Ewww, don't you dare! Keep it! Keep IT!" She shouts and hides her face beneath the wall. It's cute: he snickers at her, then masks it up with a cough. He shouldn't laugh in situations like these. Especially if he is this close to a four bear force ready to be unleashed. And especially if he is only clad in tiny, green, uncomfortable towel. Her towel. New rush of fire surges through his veins.

"So okay. This is weird, and I-". And he wants to apologize because he is not that big of an ass as he tends to make of himself, when he realizes it. "-and for your information, coming into guys' bathrooms is illegal too. And a bit perverse, I would say."

This is his ticket out.

"What do you mean?" What is he talking about? Is he, by any chance, implying that she is the one who did the deviancy? That she is the stalker, the trespasser, the pervert? Oh, no she isn't going to fall for that. She is smarter than that. She looks at his smug, but red face and, oh yeah, he is clearly trying to make her feel like the guilty one. Like she would ever even think about stalking dudes while they shower. That is so under her league.

But then again she hasn't seen where she has entered. Maybe he really is just someone who was on the wrong place wrong time. He has planted a seed of doubt that hit a fertile ground.

"I mean what I mean. Okay look, this is awkward and all and I'm sorry for borrowing you towel, but I just want to go to sleep without a fear that someone is going to hunt me down in the morning for a thing I haven't done-"

"But you have done this. You are the one who is here! This is clearly a sexual assault, and I'm not going to-"

"Just look at the door when I leave, okay? I will leave the towel hanging right there, next to the door." With that he starts to back up; step over step away from her and closer to the safety.

"So you will just leave? What the-no, turn around! I mean it. I'm still going to find you in the morning! Hey. Hey!" She shouts at him. Three steps away from the door he turns on his heel, opening and closing, and again opening the door, only his arm reappearing when he reaches in and hangs her towel on the hook.

She wastes no time when the door closes again: she flies for the towel, almost slipping on the floor, her left hand clawing helplessly against the foggy wall. In the last second she grabs her towel, steadying her balance and her shaking legs. She hastily ties it around herself-and ignores the fact it was touching the junk of some random dude just a second ago. The door shudders violently on its hinges when she throws it open, just an echo of distant running steps greeting her when she pops her head in the dark hallway.

So, he has fled.

Silly man. That's not going change anything. She will find him in the morning, call the cops and maybe kick him a few nice times in the balls, if she manages.

Fog starts pouring out of the gap above her head; she feels the colder air blowing in the bathroom.

She harrumphs–it's unlikely he would come back. Culprits never came back to the scene of their crime. She grips the doorknob–the air is chilly on her skin–and before she turns and shuts the door behind herself, one thing catches her eye: a small silver man figure hanging on the upper part of the door.


	3. Chapter 3

She touches her face. It feels hot – so hot – under her fingers. God, she is blushing again. Even now eight hours after the incident the uncomfortable fever has yet to get down. Oh, what should she do if she meets him again? Apologize or

"-Maka. Miss Maka. You are not paying attention." A tiny voice and a tug on her sleeve snaps her out of her reverie. She looks down on him and he looks up at her. His eyes – golden like his mother's, but not warm or caring enough to resemble Marie's – look at her with a cold calculating perception. Her insides churn – it's like he is piercing right through her very soul. His head tilts to the right and he opens his mouth, carefully forming every word that comes out, as if the fate and the doom of the world depended on the right formulation of his question.

There was something seriously unnatural abut this kid.

"Are you thinking about something romantic?" He says completely unaffected by his question. Shouldn't small kids be embarrassed when the world romance or love was mentioned?

"What? I-I, no! No, I'm not. What makes you think that?" She grins nervously.

Why is she so flustered? He is just a kid, nothing more. Except that he gives off this strange vibe – his eyes were just a bit too much knowing and his words too apprehensive for a kid his age. And also it may do have something with the way his smile was kind of detached and artificial, his eyes just a bit too cold as if he was just some cute little doll possessed by a very old and very wise spirit.

...She seriously needs to stop thinking about stupid stuff like Stein making artificial babies and then programming them to be simply 'curious'. Because that is what exactly the kid is doing at the moment: his scrutinizing stare is making her crumble little by little.

"Father says that when people blush, it's because blood surges in their blood vessels and it's because their experience emotional stress such as embarrassment anger or romantic stimulation. So are you thinking about something romantic?" Why, of all of the options above would he choose a romantic stimulation was beyond her.

He looks at her the same way his father looks at her father in the photos from their police time – like he wants to disassemble her to tiny bits.

"Oh, no. No. It's just a hot day. Phew." She feigns fanning herself with her hand. He doesn't seem to buy it. "Oh, look an ant!"

And to her surprise, the kid actually lets her be, becoming interested in the small determined arthropod marching with a bread crunch.

 _The bear looked at her with its glossy eyes. The fox bared its teeth at her. The duck…well the duck did its ducky thing. And the dissected frog was still floating in there. It had been just a peaceful morning for her, spent with her mourning over her last night. Right until Spirit came in running for her, asking her to come with him quickly._

 _"_ _So,_ _I hear you used to babysit?" Stein asked._

 _Her father coughed behind her guiltily. Traitor._

 _"_ _Yes. Yes I have."_

 _She would like if Spirit stepped away from the back of her chair and stopped acting like an overprotective mastiff. He had already done enough. God damn traitors._

 _"_ _I have a proposal for you." Stein makes a dramatic pause. By the looks of it, he was an expert in this: her father behind her sucked in breath. "You do remember my son, Aldwin, right? Well, he seemed to take a genuine interest in you. And as you know two days ago, Marie went on a trip. I would like you to babysit my son. It would be like killing two birds with one stone. Don't worry, I will pay you."_

Aldwin pokes at the ant. It lets go of the bread crunch and starts crazily running in small circles.

"Did you know ants emerged some one hundred and thirty million years ago with flowering plants? There are almost twelve thousand five hundred species classified." He takes out a small notepad and a pencil, then sits right there on the spot, and starts doodling. She leans on the tree trunk and opens her book.

 _"_ _I don't know about it-" Spirit coughed lamely, successfully interrupting her answer, "but if you are sure you want to let me watch over him, I think I can do that. I don't have much to do over here anyway, besides reading."_

 _Stein smiled tightly._

 _She felt her insides make a flip._

 _"_ _You can start right now if you want. Actually it would be great if you did. Your father and I have some catching up to do."_

 _"_ _Right. Okay." She stood up and dusted off her shorts. Spirit stepped away, opening some space for her to maneuver around the sofa. Stein offered her a hand. "Deal?"_

 _"_ _Deal." She sealed her fate._

 _Aldwin impatiently tugged on her sleeve and then they were out._

She wakes up. First, her bearrings come to her slowly, then it all crashes into her at once – the feeling of her nose being pressed down by the weight of the tome, the dryness and a sour taste in her mouth, her neck uncomfortably craned against her bag and her shins being cooked alive. And, of course, the thing that actually woke her up: some wet sharp thing scratching ornaments into her skin.

'The Scarlett letter' flies of her face and lands on the ground with a resonating 'thud' when she sits up rapidly fast; she also startles a grey haired boy from tattooing her arms with dots and lines. With a black marker. He doen't look guilty at all; he just shoves his notepad under her nose and announces he has run out of empty space.

It's only after she brings her forearm up to her eyes, the dots and lines connect and she realizes there is an army of ants imprinted in her skin in bold and obtrusive black marker.

This is going to be hard.

* * *

"So, you tell me you met a chic, you were both naked and your little friend hasn't betrayed you?"

It has always been hard to explain to Star not everything was about boners or sex. Not everyone had that kind off epic sexual history that would consist of doing it on every flat surface possible. Not everyone had a willing girlfriend – sometimes he couldn't believe what Tsubaki agreed to do as according to Star's 'humungous tales' he had to listen to when he didn't manage to shut Black Star up or transfer his attention to something noisy or sparkly soon enough. "Yeah. Not everyone is a wanker like you."

Oil hits him square in the face. He blinks up at his coworker; Black Star just grins at him from his position above, setting aside the small red oil container, and leaning again on his forearms, against the opened hood of the car. Soul tries to rub it away with one gloved hand, only he just makes it worse; the whole left side of his forehead feels greasy. He bets it looks greasy too.

"At least fucking help me. Give me socket seventeen."

Star digs through the case on the cramped table. In next second socket size seventeen hits him in the stomach. He takes the tool and rolls under the car again.

"So, you up for it tonight?"

"Up for what? Frech wrench."

"Killik brought it again. Says it's from Vegas, some super classy shit. Ten thirty, Ox's van if you are interested. Bring twenty bucks." Soul rolls out again on his skateboard, giving his friend an incredulous stare. (His friends, right, they knew not when to stop and have a break. At this rate their brains will be cooked before they reach twenty-five.)

"What? Soul bro. Loosen up. That chic still hunting you? Come with us. I promise I found a great place."

Yeah, and last time he said that they were stuck in Steins garden house for five hours after Stein purposely or unintentionally locked up while they were still inside.

"I will see. That french wrench." He sticks his head back under the car. He should have known better than to do so; the moment his eyes leave Black Star, something very heavy and very hard and vaguely shaped like a french wench makes an impact with his abdomen.

* * *

She is a dead meat by the time they make it back to Steins cabin. Maybe that night trip to bathrooms wasn't a good idea. Screw that it was a heinuos idea. Tonight she is just going to suck it up and take a shower like any other sane person: in the evening or in the morning, no matter the type of people that will be in there with her. She will do anything to avoid last night from happening again.

She drags herself the last three stairs up and knocks on the door. Aldwin stops by her.

She knocks again. No one shows up. But Stein must be already home. They have agreed on the time, and he struck her like a serious person. Aldwin beside her shifts on his foot. She knows he wants to go to toilet, but by some strange reason, known solely by him, he refuses to go in the forest and solve his little problem. She is considering taking him to public bathrooms, when a dark smudge appears behind the glass. Aldwin shouts, and she is taken by surprise – was that a joyful whoop?

"Uncle Soul!"

She has only enough time to wonder who could awaken this sort of enthusiasm from the ever-impassive boy, when the net door slams open and she comes face-to-face with that one person she least wanted to see at the moment.

Her face gets dark red instantly.

His levels her quickness in coloration, just repeating it with a white variation.

The boy between them stops shouting after neither of them makes any motion, looking curiously between the two of them. His eyes gain that same sick interest he has had when he examined a dead lizard on the way home.

"Miss Maka, is that why you were blushing the whole day? Is Uncle Soul you romantic interest?"

It's also a wonder how they could exchange colors so swiftly: he turns red and she pales. That sort of quick blood pressure change couldn't be good for neither of them. She nearly chokes on her own spit.

Aldwin, the destroyer, opens his mouth again, but before he can let out what he wants to say, she bursts.

"I'm sorry-" She starts and he howls with laughter, and she is just taken aback, unable to say or do anything. All the intentions to apologize for last night fly out of the window.

"I'm sorry. You should have seen your face." He chuckles again and crouches down to the boy's level. Aldwin throws his arms around Soul and he hugs him back. "And what is this little fella saying? What romantic interest?"

She is shaking from rage again by the time the last syllable leaves his mouth. Her mouth opens and closes again, but because she doesn't know what to say she just storms inside the house.

She hears Soul shout something after her, but she doesn't listen, and she won't listen to anything he has to say. And there she was thinking about apologizing. Her ass! She storms into the living room.

"Please, do not stomp so hard. There are bats in the roof. Better not wake them up!" Stein is sitting on the sofa, waiting for her, reading the newspaper and smoking a cigarette. He gives her a questioning glance. "Well?" She realizes she has let Aldwin outside.

"Didn't you forget something?" A voice drawls from behind her.

She whips around. That stupid man stands behind her, Aldwin's head peeking around his thigh. She almost grips her hair in frustration.

"Guh." No. Do not snap. She lets out one giant breath, the destructive energy accumulating in her body flying harmlessly out.

"Sorry, Aldwin. Come." She bends down in half, stretching out her hand. Aldwin walks to her and together they step before Stein. The back of her head itches like crazy – that idiot is burning her head with his stare – and the urge to frown at him wins over her resolve – she turns around and glares at him all the daggers she has.

Oh, how she would love to tear of that grin of that stupid face of that stupid man with that stupid white hair-

"How was your day Aldwin?" Stein puts down the newspaper.

"Fine... I observed ants. I sketched them. Do you want to see?" Stein takes the kid and sits him down on his knee. He gives he a meaningful look, while Aldwin tries to explain to his father how do the ant antennas work. "See you tomorrow."

"Kay. Yeah, see you tomorrow." And with that she turns on her heels, ignoring the wide grin of the red-eyed man and probably waking up all the bats with her unnecessary hard stomps. Screw them.

Screw them all.

* * *

"Do you need something else, Soul?" He realizes he has stared too hard and too long at the sitting duo on the sofa.

"Um. I-Are there really bats in the roof?"

* * *

" _Idiotic,selfabsorbedjerk,whodoes_ _ **he**_ _thinkheis,bastard-_ " She shuts the door behind herself. Other time she would maybe be regretful about using such a force on an inanimate object, but now...Ugh. She would gladly destroy three or four other lifeless things.

"How was your day, sweetie?"

"- _Iwould_ –It was fine, I guess– _ripoffthatinfuriatingsmugsmirk-_ "

"Hey, hey! And what are you murmuring under that small nose of your over there?"

"- _aboutapologizing_ -Oh, um. Nothing." She grumbles and throws her butt down on her bean bag, taking her book and opening it on some random page, ripping the paper near the gutter a bit. Just. Arrgh. Breath in, breath out.

"Well, I see you are going somewhere?"

"Yes, sweetie. Stein invited me for a drink again.

She shuts the book – ripped page, shit – and looks at her father; he appears to be looking for something. He bends down and dives halfway under the table. "Have you seen my-"

"The fridge." She informs him in bland tone.

"What?"

"You are looking for your wallet, right. It's on top of the fridge."

"Oh, right. Thank you. Always my reliable Maka." He grabs his black leather wallet, kisses her forehead and opens the door.

"Well, I'll be back in three. Good night, hun." And he is out.

She sets the book aside, and sprawls on the bean bag. The urge to move and use the excess energy, to just simply do something to to keep her mind of thinking about her own stupidity – She kicks up her legs. It helps a little. And she doesn't know how, the next second she is throwing a tantrum on her orange bean-bag, choking her growls in her throat. She has read somewhere that screaming helped. Keeping it all in isn't healthy. So she does exactly that: she lets out some steam. She bites down on the crusty orange faux leather, ignoring the stupid fake leather flakes that fall off and stick to her teeth, ignoring the gross dusty flavor that tortures her taste buds. She screams until her throat feels dry and parched and her lungs kind of hurt.

She is left breathless draped over the poor bag of polystyrene, her head upside down and her vision swarming. She stays that way until her vision blurs and her world starts to spin. She sits up, but alas, another mistake; she almost hurls. Bile rises up her throat, but she swallows just in time.

"God. Uggh." The hardcover book feels heavenly cold, where she presses it to her forehead.

She stands up, gulps down a glass of water and climbs out of the car. Fresh air does wonders. She sits down on the ground and watches the shadows grow longer and darker.

* * *

"So my man, sitting over there had some action last night. WOOP! Well done, mate!" Star strikes that notorious lighting pose, only he points his fingers at Soul, who may or may not try to blend with the old withered wood behind his back. Trust it to Black Star. To screw every peaceful moment with his big mouth. Because no, secrets in Star's brain didn't count.

All heads turn to him, searching stares and questioning glances. Even Kid, the most impassive one of them turns his head to stare on him. What? Would it be so surprising if he got some in the first place? Not that it was the case now; no it really wasn't that. Actually it was the polar opposite of getting some action as Star indicated. "If getting your dick almost chopped off counts, then yeah. Yeah, I did."

"Oh no, no, no. Watch me peasants! I shall tell you the humungous story of Soul and shower lady-"

Thankfully, all attention turns to Black Star, who proceeds to portray the tale of his nightly mishap, only with some added details and more dramatic pauses. How come Star always got onehundred percent more annoying when he was with more than two people? Something about showing off?

"And so the girl told him – Killik pass me the joint – 'Oh no, don't you look you idiot!" Black Star squeaks out, his vioce comically high and strikes yet another pose – this time a damsel in distress one, one hand pressed to his forehead, the other behind him. Soul would maybe even laugh some other time, if this wasn't about him, and about the close call his family jewels experienced while almost getting detached from their legitimate place.

"Ha, ha. Funny Star. Just almost. Except, it was more like this. The girl looked as ready as to sprout snakes from her head and fucking bite of my head, and man, that fist hurt. I have never-"

"SHUSH! Peasant! So what! She wanted to ambush you? That's hot man."

He would admit it was kind of hot, the fire burning in her eyes and the angry blush that spread everywhere his eye could see, but that would mean stooping down to that blockhead of a Black Star's level and, trust him, it wasn't possible to sink lower than that. "Tsubaki is sexy as fuck when she is angry-"

Okay. Spare him from this fate. Everyone groans and complains rise.

"-and you won't believe how dominant she can get-"

"Goddammit, Blake spare us from this, no more stories about your 'epic' history." Harvar saves the day when he jumps up, and tackles Black Star down.

Soul pays no attention to the brawl that begins to unravel right by his feet, more important matters consuming his brain at the moment. Maybe he has been kind of an jerk. He means, like. She was obviously trying to apologize when he ran into her by Stein's cabin. But he had to be him, and say the wrong thing. How could he be so ignorant?

He holds his head in his hands and watches his two friends wrestle on the ground, Harvar dominating once, other second Black Star sitting on him triumphantly, only to be thrown down again by Ox, who crashed into him full force screaming about 'unfairness of the universe and The Big Black Void' and 'why would The Black Void Lord grant such a cretin as Star the pleasures of women and Love'. Well, don't ask him. That was a question beyond answering for him too.

They were all just a bunch of kids. The fight gets decidedly out of hand when Kilik dives in, because it seemed 'fun enough' and he has enough; four dudes fighting on the ground of the small wooden shack in the woods, one of them shouting about 'pain and gain and fucking eat my fist, Harvar', the second chanting a mantra from his... uhh, religion? What even was the Cult of Black void?

The only one who seemed to have his mind still intact was Kid, but he seemed to lose it quickly enough for Soul to consider getting up, and leaving the guys to themselves.

And so he opens the door and slides out.

Out of the shack, everything seems so distant, so far away from him; the muted shout of Black Star's victory and Ox's complaining just a distant murmur, nothing more than a whisper of the wind.

He props against the crumbling wooden railing. The door creaks behind him, for a second the forest gets illuminated by the light escaping from the shack.

"Hey." The door clicks shut. Soul doesn't turn around.

"Hey, Kid. "

"So. Is it still eating you?" Kid leans on the railing, facing him. He offers him a cigarette; Soul gladly takes one, also grabbing the offered lighter. He takes a puff, watching the smoke curl and dissipate in the clean air. He wants to feel bad about polluting something so pure, but the part of him, the part that holds the cigarette and takes another whiff doesn't give a fuck.

"Nah."

"No really, what happened? Are you really the peeping tom?"

"No. Not really." He pauses and inhales the smoke – it burns, and tingles and he needs more.

"You know, Star told me everything. It's, lets say, it's not as bad as it seems."

Soul cringes. "Yeah. But. That's…That's not everything."

"You mean there's more?" Kid light's up his own stick of instant death and signals him to continue.

"Well it's just, she kind of tried to apologize and I maybe," he scratches wildly at his head, putting out the cigarette against the wet moss on the railway, "laughed in her face?"

"Well, that's something." Kid purses his lips and slowly nods. "Just… hope you won't see her again."

And Soul wants to laugh. What kind of fate is this?

"Yeah. Probably. She may murder me. Dude, I have never seen someone with such venomous green eyes, they were toxic green. And she seemed so cute back then. Like pigtails and chubby cheeks… And she can't be higher than five feet six. You wouldn't believe what kind of a strengtt she possesses. Like a bull or something. She broke my nose in one go." Yes, the THC was beggining to kick in. Yes, it was making him talk. He couldn't help it. "And the best part? She is babysitting Stein's kid. What the hell."

"That's bad."

They are both quiet after that. Kid slowly finishes his cigarette, then dusts of the sleeves of his beanie. "You know I knew a girl like that. In the grade school, and couple of years in high school. We were friends, I guess. You know, nerd to nerd. She knew Black Star since like the beginning of times. I remember how she broke his nose once, it was hilarious." Kid smiles, fond of his memories. Soul stings a little. Being home schooled sucked except maybe that one time he put a pin on the piano bench as a trap for his tutor and that one time-"Shall we go inside?"

"I'll pass. Need to freshen up a bit."

And so Kid stands up and leaves him alone with his sorry ass of a cool guy.


	4. Chapter 4

Sun beats down on her legs. Aldwin keeps on gouging his fingers in the cut he has made earlier that day whilst slipping on a tree trunk. Never mind the six band-aids she has already nursed him with; he kept on peeling them off and throwing them away. She has resigned.

She squirts sun screen on her hand and proceeds to catch the grey haired boy with other. He was like some sort of a friggin' vampire – fascinated by blood – that was, however, kind of backwards – he seemed to enjoy the sun whole lot and dodged all her attempts on smearing the sun screen over him. This time, however, she takes him by surprise.

"Miss Maka. No. I don't need sunscreen. My skin feels sticky-"

"Oh, no you don't. You already busted your knee, and you won't even let me bandage it up anyway. Your dad will be mad, if you get a sunburn." She explains as she spreads the cream across his back. "Did you know that people who have less melanin, like people with fair hair, as you, will get sunburns faster? Look, I'm covered whole. Sunburns are no funny business."

She finishes spreading the cream across his cheek, and dabs some on his nose. He glares at her. It would be cute, if his eyes didn't scream murder.

She laughs. "Free to go now." Aldwin wriggles out of her arms and walks to fetch his small paper notebook.

Her phone buzzes next to her. A message.

 _have u killed anyone, yet?_

Liz. Maka takes the phone between her wrists and lets it fall in her lap, while she dries her hands. They are still a bit sticky when she grabs her phone and she smears a bit of oil on the screen when she unlocks it.

 _No. Surprisingly dad behaves._ She hits a send, and almost immediately a text comes right back.

 _rad. what ru up to?_

 _Nothing much. Just grilling my legs a little._

She scans her surroundings for Aldwin. He is by the tree, probably observing ants again. A new message arrives.

 _yeah? wait, where ru, arrent u supposed to be in car_

 _Well yeah, change of plans. We busted the car. In the Death camp now, waiting to get the car repaired._

Liz sends her a photo of herself with a sad face, and immediately after that one with thumbs up.

 _anyway how is it?_

 _Uff, don't even ask. Yesterday, I ran in on some guy taking a shower. I still feel bad about it._

And just as she expects, her phone rings. She picks it up, and Liz's velvety voice nearly shrieks in her ear. "Details! Now! I need some deets."

"Liz, nothing happened. I just used men showers… it sounds horrible, right."

 _"Was he hot? "_

"Liz!"

 _"What. I just ask what's important. So was he hot?"_

"No?"

 _"Liar. I can hear you. I know when you lie to me. So spill." And spill she does._

* * *

 _"Wow, that's… a lot to happen during two days. I let you without supervision for barely fourty-eight hours and bam! You finally get to see junk! I'm so proud of you. You are all grown up."_ She ignores Maka's embarassed shout of her name and shouts something at someone in the background. Presumably Patty.

 _"Sorry Maks. Need to go. I will call you in the evening. Death help you if you don't pick up. Oh my gosh, Patty will die when she hears about this. Bye!"_

God. That has been tiring. She locks her phone and starts reading her book. Something doesn't feel right. Like she has forgotten about something-

"Aldwin?" No one responds. She stands up. There are many people in the small docks that belonged to camp, some of them lifting their heads when she calls the boy's name. "Aldwin?"

"Aldwin!" No, she can't lose a kid on her second day of job. She jumps up from the blanket she has set up on the pier, whips around and it's like her her heart plummets down to her stomach and right back up, because she spots Aldwin crouching few feet from the base of the pier, talking to some stranger. Except that she is no stranger, not anymore, to the white haired man. Aldwin laughs, and she is two parts relieved and one part bristling, and maybe a bit guilty for leaving a child unattended and without supervision.

"Aldwin!" By second she is next to the white haired man. Aldwin stands up.

"Hey." The man says. She has to actually shade her eyes to look him in the face. That doesn't stop her from frowning at him, expressing her opinion candidly.

"Hey." She responds.

"It's not good to leave child unattended, ya know. Something may happen. Like a bear might go by and eat them."

"Right." She snaps. Jerk.

"Well. Aldwin, gotta go. Still have work to do, buddy." With that he claps the boy's shoulder and Aldwin nods seriously.

"Thanks for coming, uncle Soul. Will you come tomorrow too? We will go to beach again?"

"I will see buddy. We got a new car to repair. See ya. And nice suit, by the way." He addresses the last part to her. Blushing madly, she covers her ladybug bikini. What? She likes it! Maybe it wasn't sexy as hell, and it was kind of dorky but, still. It was not his business. "Go to hell!" She instantly regrets it. Swearing in front of child… how much deeper could she sink.

Ugh, this man!

The man in question laughs and waves at them with his back turned before jamming his fists deep into his pockets and calls out 'whatever!'. He makes his way through array of laying people and baskets all the time slouching horribly. That couldn't be good for his column nor his vertebra.

"Why was he here?"

"I asked him to come yesterday. He promised he would come, so he came." The grey haired boy smiles up at her. She can't be and has no reason to be mad at him. And it would be kind of hard too, with that cute smiling face. She shakes the begginings of rage off and decides to not ruin her day, nor the day of the little boy.

"Do you want to go swimming Aldwin?"

* * *

Idiot. Idiot, idiot, idiot, idiot. He punctuates each swear with a hard slap on forehead. What did he say? Better not leave a child unattended? Nice swimsuit? He bends in two, groaning into his hands. At last no passersby are nearby, so he has been spared the embarrassment of acting up in the public.

Real smart Soul. Congratulations.

It was just that, when he saw her, he kind of didn't know what to do. Aldwin begged him to come, and he was not the one to say no to a kid. And then she was sitting there a book in her lap, and he wanted to turn around and walk away. The way he did, always turned around and walked away.

"Demon-hunter?" He is startled by the buzz of his walkie-talkie on his belt. "Demon-hunter to the base. I repeat, Demon-hunter to the base."

"God-of-war? Go ahead."

"…Fuck no, Soul. We talked about it bro. It's Warrior-god. Shit. Don't mess it up again. Warrior-god."

"Black Star-"

"Warrior-god!"

"Fuck. Okay, okay, Warrior-god. What do you want?"

"Zombie-man needs all men to report to the repair shop. In ten minutes. Clear."

"Clear. Be there in five. Whatever."

He jams the walkie-talkie back on his belt and begins his trek back to the repair shop. Sid was a pain in the ass if someone got a bit tardy.

* * *

She thinks motion will help ease her mind. Stop thinking completely, totally void of thoughts and feelings. At last, it has always helped before. But doesn't now. Her certified method doesn't work, and it throws her off her carefully maintained balance a little. She thinks cold water, and the surge of adrenaline in her blood when she stays underwater just long enough will bring her mind to other things. She doesn't want to feel, or see, or hear; her life has been complicated even before the white-haired and red-eyed entity walked into her life, stirring it up.

But it was not wise to 'leave a child without supervision' as the man in question has so wisely pointed out. How how she hated the guts of someone who thought he was superior to her, when he clearly wasn't.

She surges out on the surface, blinking out the droplets of water. She checks on the grey haired boy next to her. Still breathing. Still alive. Glasses still intact, if not a bit wet.

That white haired fool could go and suck a-"Maka. Do fishes eat their own poop?" Pressing the rubber swim ring to his chest, Aldwin whines to get her attention. He looks at her in that unnerving way and coupled with wet spectacles, he suddenly looks a bit too much like his father.

"What?"

"I think I just saw one eat its own poop." Why would he be so frantic about it?

"Oh, that's probably true. Nature is like that." She says, shrugging mindlessly. Aldwin makes a face. She laughs to herself. So fascinated by blood and dead lizards, but he couldn't handle the thought of one puny fish eating its own…excrement.

"I think I want out of water now. Please." She laughs, humour back in full blast as she shoos him from the water. She is still laughing even when she is drying him up and dressing him back to his shorts and t-shirt.

She decides to appall the boy more. Maka, the encyclopedia opens its pages, full of wisdom for the new generation. "So. Eating someone's poop is not that uncommon in the beautiful world of nature, you know?"

Aldwin waits for her to continue, the disgust in an early stage visible in the firm set of his mouth.

"Like hippos, for example. In the times of drought, when there is indigence of greenery, some of the hippos resort to eating the excrement of other hippos. You know, a recycling of sorts." She grins, then laughs when the boy tries to push her away. "A dog mother, as of to clean the scents and not attract the predator, tends to clean up after her pups by eating-"

"Eww. That's just blegh. Stop!"

And she laughs with abandon.

* * *

It's because Aldwin likes uncle Soul, and his face starts to shine whenever he talks about him that she keeps asking questions about the rude, ill-mannered man. It's because during that time he looks his age, simply the ordinary kid he, essentially, is. That was the one and only reason she kept asking about him.

"So what does uncle Soul do anyway?"

"He works in the repair shop." Aldwin says as he picks up an old pine cone and plays with its scales.

"Umm. Okay."

"And he can repair almost anything!"

"Really?"

"Yes. He has a motorcycle of his own." That actually fell right in her assumed description

of him. "And he hangs out with other cool bros."

She stops. Cool bros?

"Cool bros?"

"Well, uncle Kilik, Harvar, Kid and Black Star."

"So, he is actually not your uncle? Wait, did you say Black Star?"

"Yes, we are not related by blood. And yes, I said Black Star."

She splutters indignantly. Black Star? That sounded familiar. And did he also say Kid?

"I-And, uh, does that Kid, um, have like, three white stripes in his hair?"

"Oh, yeah he does."

That couldn't be true. Black Star was pretty uncommon. One of her friends has this name on facebook. All the hope that they could be some other Blake and some other Kid evaporates in thin air. What were they doing here? What was up with her luck? Why, death, why?

"Come on. We've got to run. Your dad is waiting for us." She got a call from her dad about twenty minutes ago, saying she had to be by the car in half an hour because the mechanics were going to check the car up, meaning she had to get the boy home sooner. She takes Aldwin's hand, and walks with him the rest of the way to the shack. Stein isn't going to be happy about this.

* * *

"Come bro. Sid said to check the car up before the owner actually bit off his head."

"Star, shut up. I'm going, man." They turn around the red Toyota. "What car is it supposed to be, anyway? And why didn't they get it towed directly in the shop?"

"Well. It's a van. Unless Sid wanted to have those people sleeping in the shop, which I think he didn't, he had to solve it this way. Said that that owner was a mayor cretin. He talked to him on the phone solo. And I think it's supposed to be an orange Mercedes."

"Orange Mercedes?" He has a distant feeling of Déjà vu. He must have seen that van somewhere.

"Welp! There it is. Gosh, that color is unworthy of my vision."

The car in question comes to view. The Déjà vu comes crashing back full force. He has seen this car. Yes, he has. Only, when? He can't remember it clearly.

"Come." Star runs the last few feet. "I think it will be in the motor."

Stopping by the car, Soul says:"Oh, don't you say you genius." Seeing Star beginning to grope up the hood, he adds: "I think we should first call out the owner. Don't feel like getting chased away by police or whatever."

"Yeah… Yeah, right man." Before he can do anything, Blake reaches out and bangs his fist on the front door, opening his mouth wide enough to be considered an angry chimpanzee. Soul could swear the whole van shaked with the force of his fist. "Hello! Hey there! Your redeemer is here! Your redeemer is-" Soul jams his fist in Black Stars mouth. Kind of not the way to politely greet someone.

He manages to juggle Black Star away from the door, somehow. It may be thanks to his superior height, but Black Star is kind of like a gorilla and he manages a few good punches before Soul can jump away and simultaneously push Black Star into safer distance. "Hey! The mechanics are here. Ouch! Star stop! We came to check up on the car. You should have gotten a – ouch! – call that we would come-"

"Yeah, yeah coming. Just leave the door be, okay?" The voice is surprisingly feminine, but he doesn't have time to ponder on this fact because. Star. Licks. His. Knuckles. "What the hell man, eww, gross!" And then bites down hard, waggling his brows.

The door is thrown open by force of the nature, and he is met face-to-face, with the unexpected. The shower lady slash Aldwin's babysitter slash girl with superpowers. She looks equally surprised, before her eyes slide from his and on the idiot beside him. He feels Blake's lips wiggle around his flesh when he tries to mumble something.

"Blake?"

"Mumfaa!"

"What?"

"Mumfaa!" He can feel Blake's saliva leaking between his fingers. Yuck!

"Hey, hello lady. Star don't bite me!" He wretches his hand away from the gross hole known as Black Star's mouth. His hands has been contaminated, better find an axe and get rid of it before it will be too late and he turns to some brainwashed frat boy. The girl's – isn't it kind of weird he still doesn't know her name? They met quite the number of times. And really what kind of unfortunate destiny is this?– attention is reverted back to Soul.

" _You_ are supposed to _repair_ the van?!" She scowls at him, clearly displeased.

"Maka! What the hell! Long time no see! Your god has returned to you. YAHOO!" Black Star throws his arms in the air and jumps on a silver camping fridge for leverage. He breaths in, visibly about to shout some more.

"Well yeah. What are you unhappy?" Soul returns her scowl with the same card, baring his teeth right back at her – Maka? Was that the name Black Star called her? If there was one thing he was good at it was looking frowning and looking displeased at all the times. Besides what right does she have to judge him?

"More like worried. You don't strike me as a type to not destroy something." That may be true, but not in this way. He was good to damage everything else, like relationships and stuff, but in mechanics… He was good. Boy, was he good. So what right does this small, abusive woman have to judge?

"Heey, how it's going? Just wait till you see Kid-"

"Well yeah, you don't strike me as a type to peek at men either!" His cool is slipping, fast. He can't help it though. So okay, he may have been bit jerky but what! She was the one who has assaulted him. And her red face was kind of satisfying. She looks taken aback and a bit offended too, her eyes clouded over with something akin to hurt for a split second before she masks it up with venom.

"Dude, what? She's the peeping lady? Maka, I wouldn't peg you as the type-"

"Well, maybe if you paused long enough from your self absorbed jerkiness you would see someone trying to apologize. But no! It's better to insult people! Yes!" She shakes, her fists trembling at her sides.

"Oh, really? Pigtails is an insult now?! Then hear this! Tiny-tits!" He spits out, almost growling. What was up with this woman?

She gasps for air, her cheeks flaring instantly. She gapes like fish before she seems to gain her force back and hiss back at him. "Mhm, really original. Continue, goth-boy!"

"Now who's the orriginal one! You impossible, insolent woman-"

"Jerkwad!" Well, he didn't expect that one. Not from her. Even despite being his momentary enemy number one, he wouldn't peg her as the type to use stronger words. May have to do something with those chubby cheeks.

"Fat-ankles!"

"Yes, insult the appearances! It's so clear you are the superficial one, going just after big fun bags, right?"

"Who even says fun bags anymore, get with the age-"

"Guys, I don't think this is-"

"Shut up Blake!" He shouts while she screams: "Be quiet, Blake!" at the surprised idiot standing mere feet away from them.

"And you!" She roars, heat transparent on her skin, flames in her eyes, scorching, and burning so strongly. In that split second he turns back to her, and she turns back to him; he has not enough time to think about their position, to think about how close they got that she is level in height with him hence she is standing in a car – they bump their heads. Pretty harmfully at that.

"Ouch, darn!"

"Watch what you're doing, you- you vampire!"

"Are you still on it?" He growls at her.

"Hey. Hey!" There is a strong arm on his shoulder and then he is pulled back, away from the tiny woman spitting fire. "You two. What are you, five year-old, or what? Better calm down and solve this like normal, intelligent adults." There is seriousness in Black Star's voice, and even graver one in his eyes, thing that he has basically never seen present in that monkey-like, blue haired doofus. And so he backs up.

"You are both my disciples, and I don't think I want to see you two fighting like this over, what? A nasty misunderstanding?"

"Yeah, right. Star, can you finish up for me? I'm going back." Soul brushes away Black Stars steel like grip. Black Star tries to stop him, but he just feels the need to escape, to retreat, to dig a hole and hide his sorry ass in it for the rest of eternity.

"Soul, hey man! Come back. Hey! Don't ignore your GOD!"

This isn't like him. He tends to be the one who doesn't participate in conflicts, fluid in evading brawls and arguments and all bothersome things. Even back home, he was able to dodge all the nasty things he has created in his own head, as a result of the never ending disappointment in his parents' eye's that shined whenever they looked at their youngest son.

He had a thick skin. Except maybe for this girl, this abrasive, nerdy girl, who seemed to bring out the worst in him.

He retreats with his back turned, retreats with tail between his legs and head deep between shoulders.

"…So, how is it going pigtails?"

"Ugh. Blake. Nice to see you again too."


	5. Chapter 5

She wakes to the sound of someone banging on the door, possibly trying to kick them down and fucking sacrifice them to a god of destruction or whatever.

"Blake." She groans, still half asleep. She would have known who it was just by the way the plastic of the door cries whenever that doofus's fist touches its surface. Yeah, she would weep too.

"Maka. Angel. I think someone is here to rob us." Someone mutters beside her bed. She hears the person shuffling around, things and belongings scraping against each other, as the person throws them out of their proper place in the drawer. On normal days, she would be already up and shining bright, but this was not a normal day. She got like two winks of sleep during, thinking about the events of the previous day, and, even if she didn't like to admit it, she was worried over being such a bitch, as Blake so charmingly affirmed, to that lonesome Soul-dude (she learned his name after a long – very long – conversation with Blake yesterday, sitting beside him as he tried to get on what has happened to her car.)

"No, dad. I think it's Blake-"

"Don't worry my sweet angel, papa will protect you!" She hears something heavy fall on ground, and finally prying open her eyes, she meets the very first shock of her day – her dad pulls out a police gun, Glock 19 if she remembers correctly its name, with a triumphant 'aha!'.

Her dad treks over to the door, while she tries to untangle herself from her sheets – it has been a cold night, and she added two more blankets to her usual comforter – and when she finally, finally falls out of her bad, her papa already throws the door open, shouting 'police don't move!' at the person standing on the outside, which may be considered a bit comical, taking into account his onesie pajama with handcuffs and small dogs wearing police hats.

"Blake? Is that you?" The red-haired man puts down the gun, and tries to holster it, which results in failure considering his onesie pajama with handcuffs and small dogs wearing police hats. He laughs lamely, obviously trying to play it off, but only resulting in further embarrassment. "I-hi. Since when is your hair blue?"

"I dyed it two years ago. I think. Looks godlier than before, ya know. Lures more ladies. Anyway, mister Albarn, is Maka here?" She rolls her eyes at his choice of words. No her papa wouldn't know. He was all about scoring the ladies the 'old good ways'.

"Yeah, she is here."

"Ya know, Sid thought it was you, he just wasn't sure I guess. He told me to send regards and also to call him later." He then pops his head in the vehicle making her father jump aside. She almost shrieks. He climbs in right after.

"Come on you are slow like a dead meat. What's up with that pajamas? Kitties? Really? Get up. Dress. Go go go!"

She scrambles to kick Blake out because her papa, being, as per usual, useless as snail when he is most needed and wouldn't manage to protect his daughter's dignity.

* * *

"So what do you need me to do anyway?"

"Nah, nothing, your god can't manage. I was just worried for my peasant." She is left speechless. Blake and caring for someone else than his own ass? This day was just great – throwing shocking and unexpected things at her left and right. "Weird, huh? A year ago, I wouldn't give a fuck, but I met someone-"

"Tsubaki, right?" They kept in touch through facebook, as she did with all of her friends from Death city with occasional texts and photos. She remembers the incredulity she felt when she first saw his status go from 'single' to 'in relationship' and her mouth hanging from its hinges. "I can't believe you two are still together."

"Well, yeah. She is my goddess." He grins lecherously. If she didn't want to barf at the moment, at the not so subtle implication, she might have actually considered his words sweet. "Actually, she wants to meet you."

"So she is here?"

"Yeah. Spending summer together with me." Again he grins, and folds his arms behind his head. "God of everyone."

"Yeah, okay."

Blake starts to blabber about something, totally losing her when the word 'peasant' gets mentioned the third time. Her mind slowly drifts away.

"-and so I told him, Black Star is here, no worries my-"

"Blake?"

"Black Star."

"What?"

"I go by Black Star now. Blake sounds boring. Black Star suits better my personality." Obnoxious as always, just the way she remembers.

"Yeah, childish and stupid." She nods seriously. "Just like you. I refuse to call you that."

"HO! No! Tsubaki likes it, and if she likes it nobody can tell me otherwise, my minion! In your face!"

"Really? Blake, really?" He just laughs boisterously. She ignores him and instead gather her courage to ask her next question. "No. I wanted to ask you-" She starts, only to get cancelled by Blake turning around and slapping her, in bro way, on her shoulder. It seriously hurts. Has he been working out? Okay, stupid question. His arms are like bear arms, so yeah. He must have had.

"You reached your destination! Whoop!" They turn around the corner and a garage comes into sight. It's probably the one and only facility build from other material than wood in the whole camp. Black Star throws his arms in the air and walks backwards to the repair shop. "Now, my minion, welcome to my kingdom and enjoy the king's presence–mine! HAHAHA!"

There are two or three cars dismantled to bits and pieces across the shor-cut grass. She can hear the distant hum of a drill and someone shouting. "Wait, Blake. Why are we here? I mean-"

"Star! Come here for a sec. I need your help with the-" A tall man with white hair, peeking under his green cap, clad in grey muscle shirt with hand-shaped oil smudges stops dead in his track when he sees her standing next to Blake outside the car shop. She mirrors his action, unconditionally, freezing on spot.

"Black Star." He hisses out, teeth bared. Blake gleefully tries to skip around him, getting stopped by the red-eyed man who catches him by his shoulder. He bends down to Blake's level and whispers, infuriated, in his ear. "What is she doing here? I thought we agreed you would, under no circumstances, lead her here-"

"You know, I can hear you." She calls out. "I'm standing right here."

Trying to appear innocent, Black Star holds his arms up in the air. "You didn't make me promise, bro. And so she is here."

"-Fuck that, I told you it's not a good idea to take her here. Man, she is going to decapitate me any second-"

"And that's exactly why your god has gathered you all here, this sunny morning!" Star shouts as he catches the taller man around his neck and brings him down to his level. "You god demands a piece agreement! After a long long conversation with Tsubaki last night I decided that yes, indeed, a treaty is needed! No need to clap! Thank you, thank you!"

She is left gaping at the blue haired doofus.

"Blake, I'm not going to stand here and listen to your stupid ideas." Treaty? As if! She turns on her heel and stomps away three steps, before a strong hand catches her shoulder and then Blake's obnoxious voice thunders right next to her ear: "Kilik! I got her! Secure Soul! Don't let him escape!" And then she is being dragged to the garage.

"What? Hey! Kilik. Let me go! Man, I'm not – fuck, stop that – going anywhere!"

Blake sets her firmly on the ground; her feet feel like they have sunk into the forest ground. And she comes face to chest with her one only momentary enemy, no one other than the cheeky, white-haired bastard Soul Evans, that wasn't so cheeky at the moment, more so scowling at her and at the whole world.

"Now, you two are going to behave like normal adults – for god's sake, stop struggling Maka! – and apologize to each other. Your GOD demands it!" She twists her head upwards, meeting the red-eyed stare with a glare of same scorching quality. She would put a hand to fire if that Soul would even consider admitting to his stupidity. She struggles against the two hands that anchor her on her spot. "Blake! Let me. Go!"

"Now. Soul, last night you told me, you would be willing to apologize for being a jerk. Now is your chance bro. And Maka, how did you put it yesterday? That you feel bad for being bitchy, and that you admit being the one at fault for that bathroom incident?" Maka kicks Blake in the shin – oh, God, why was she so stupid as to tell him that? He smiles painfully at her, his eyes screaming revenge, but doesn't let her go, just tightens his grip on her. "I'm not going to watch my two peasants fight against each other. I give you two a chance to rise and shine by my side. So do us a favor and get it together. I demand a treaty."

She gulps down embarrassment and looks Soul in the eye. She will approach this professionally. She jabs out her hand, offering him a hand shake and looking him hard in the eye.

"Truce?"

His sneer matches her own. They are like two lions trapped inside a cage and forced to collaborate.

"Truce."

* * *

Her calfs hurt and so does her rib cage. She huffs, drops of sweat running down the side of her face. The need t stop grows and expands as her muscle begin to protest in agony. She stops. It has been a while since the last time she did the cardio, and, boy, is it visible. She brushes away the lone strands of her fair blond hair that struck to her forehead and in her mouth, and bends in half, trying to breathe lungfuls to make the pain ease away. It's not workinng and so she straightens up and starts running again.

She accelerates, running around tents and people sitting on camping chairs and logs, enjoying their midday meal, going faster and faster until she runs in the caravan park site. She quickly finds their van – it has gotten easier to maneuver through the mash of the cars, the red toyota car acting as sort of an beacon – and she opens the door.

"Maka?"

"Yeah, that's me." She huffs out. She brings the trim of her shirt to her face and wipes her face. It doesn't smell nice, not by a long shot. Bleh. She will go and take a shower – this time she makes a mental note not to froget her swim wear- before she will need to go and fetch Aldwin. It may be bit of a stretch, but she doesn't want to smell whole day.

"Okay, honey. I'm going out. Could you please stay and watch the mechanics when they come back from their lunch pause? I don't want anyone stealing something. I'm not saying that the mechanics would necesarily steal, even if I don't like the ones I have seen here this morning, but anyone can go by and-"

"Papa. I'm already watching over Aldwin, I can't do it. And besides you know Blake Barrett, no? He wouldn't let that happen."

"Blake wasn't here this morning, pumpkin."

She hasn't been there in the morning too, courtesy of lost nerves and excercise, so this revelation surprises her. "Wait. He wasn't here? But I thought. . ." Suddenly she is suspicious. "Then who was here?"

"You remember that boy who towed us? Well he was here. He said that Blake had a day off when I asked." She exhales, worry evaporating. And here she was, surmising that Blake would commit a fraud and make her agree to a truce, because he wanted to send Soul here without risking another fight between them.

"-And a white haired octopus head." Spirit laughs humorlessly. "A small smart-ass punk, who thought he was wiser than me, having all those comments about my car and forgotten oil-change. . ." The end of his sentence fades in an offended murmur and harrumphing. "Vamp-like moron!"

Her anger is quick to raise.

That bastard. He has deceived her after all! Well being of his 'peasants'? What a joke. Blake wanted the two of them to collaborate so he could protect Soul from her while he was away? On one side, the dedication to his friend had to be admired, on other side, his scheming was laughable. He asked for it. She will collaborate the shit out of him, if it meant she would get him to do his punishment.

"Okay, papa. I will do it."

* * *

"What is this?" She hears a child say when she walks around the red Toyota and hurries to her car. She recognizes it as Aldwin's voice.

So the mechanics are already here. But what was Aldwin doing there? She still has another five minutes before she would need to go and fetch him from his house, well, of course, if he hadn't already been present. She hurries around the car, trying to quickly dry the rest of her still wet hair with the towel around her neck. She walks around the van, finds the keys next to the front wheel, opens the door and goes inside to put away her wet swimsuit. The view from the front window is blocked by the open hood.

"That's the spark plug."

She hops from the vehicle and walks to it's front, stopping when the duo comes into sight.

"Hm. And this?" The grey haired boy pushes his glasses up his nose, a habit clearly mimicked from his father and leans further into the open hood of the car to peer at it's insides. She has a feeling that next few days she isn't going to hear about anything else than the motors and the engines.

"That's the oil filter. Don't touch it." Laughing, the white haired male, currently bent in a weird angle to fit under the hood of her Mercie says as he lifts Aldwin's hand from the incriminated dirty parts of engine. The boy props on the lip of the van, stretching to see more and points out another part, another question clearly to be asked in the expanse of the next three seconds.

"Okay, that's enough." She says when Aldwin almost falls face first into the engine. She stalks over, catches the boy under his arms and peels him of the car. "Evans." She nods to him in mock greeting.

"Albarn." With a sardonic grin he puts a finger to his cap, lifting it by an inch. She grits her teeth.

Everything about him is irritating.

She puts the grey haired boy down.

"Mind telling me why Aldwin is here with you?"

"Actually, Stein asked me to take him with me. He went somewhere with your dad, and so Aldwin needed a lift sooner." He grins, unperturbed by her stare. "Right mate?"

The boy is right back on the car. "Aye mate." He responds in bland voice. His attention is likely consumed by the motor and thoughts of dismantling it to bits.

She looks at him and he swears he will kill Black Star for putting him through this-

"Aldwin, get off. It's dangerous." Her attention is reverted back to the boy.

"Let him be. He is just curious." And he is back in the center of the spotlight. He is not scared, he tells himself, he is not scared because they have a truce thing going on and besides, she wouldn't try to hit him when a small kid watching. At least he hopes so. In the last act of dying bravado he sneers at her.

"Don't be so uptight." His hope is squashed right then and there; he sees her eye twitch – she has the shortest temper he has ever seen, even his granny is no match for her – and all of a sudden she is crammed in his personal space, taking it up, cornering him into the sharp edge of the under hood with an accusatory poke to his chest.

"I'm uptight?" And she seems to be growing and growing in his personal bubble until he is lost in her green eyes and the tight line of her lips-

Two metallic gloves creep from under car and catch the bumper, a head pops out second later by Soul's feet. Maka jumps away like a startled cat, and to say the truth, his heart almost palpitates that moment too. "You two, stop it right now. Black Star will hear about this. Remember the deal – if you violate the truce agreement, none of us will get to see Star running naked through the camp. Fire and Thunder flipped like pancakes when they heard about it. So don't strip us of this chance Albarn."

"Why don't you just not tell him then?" Soul sneers at Kilik's head, monitoring Albarn with the corner of his eye. There is no telling what she would do once she settles he rumpled feathers.

Kilik's glasses glint. He is prompted to stomp down on him. Hard."As much as it's prompting to see Black Star getting his ass handled to him by Stein after he embarrasses himself down to hell, I would also like to see you doing your lost-bet penalty."

Oh, yeah. Soul has almost forgotten. To make him and Maka abide by the piece treaty – and not make them turn on each other the second Black Star turned around, as Maka so faithfully pointed out right after she let go of his hand after the initial peace hand-shake – Black Star made a bet with them. If they won't break the peace, he would do whatever they wanted – surprisingly collectively, they agreed that Black Star would make a round around the camp in his birtday suit; making him break into Stein's house, steal a bear skin and wear it whole day was another great candidate.

If they break the peace, a case with such a high possibility he wants to cry, they will have to do what Black Star comes up with. Soul had a bad feeling it would include a great deal of forced affection between him and Maka, lots of stupid jokes about said forced affection between him and Maka, and locking them away in some secluded caravan for a whole day might just wander in somewhere along the way. You never know, especially if the lewd way Star waggled his eyebrows at him was any indication. Either way, Maka agreed so fast he didn't even have time to react, yet much time to consider and think about some of the possibilities the bet could bring along.

Really, the fire with which she appeared to carry out every action of hers, the flame that burned deep in her soul and which he came to associate her with is nothing to mess with. She makes hurried decisions, is in deep need of some anger management classes, in his opinion, and has a set of murderous features that just don't sit well with her initial sweet-personality perception (that's just his mistake for thinking that everything small is automatically cute, what a joke.)

"Either way, it's a win-win for all of us, bystanders. Friendly advice: don't lose this bet. Star has some nasty shit prepared for you, believe me."

"What nasty shi- sorry." He stops when he catches Maka's glare that clearly conveyed just what she thought about swearing in front of a child. He quickly corrects himself. "What has he prepared for us?"

"Sorry man. Star made me bromise." Kilik rolls his eyes. "And, I'm not the one to break a promise."

"Cool man. I respect that." He smiles down at his friend. They are members of the same pack, a family he felt he belonged to more than to his actual family, and promises were something almost sacred. Most of all to Black Star.

"Oh god. Don't tell me you are frat brothers or something."

"No." Soul says. "We are not. I'm not a member of any fraternity, as far as I'm concerned, and Kilik- you neither? And Kilik is neither. Black Star is a frat, Kid isn't and the rest of us goes to other university-" he stops blabbering when he realizes that he has been blabbering precisely to one and only Maka Albarn, who seemed to listen to him with an unwavering interest. Surprised–and blushing, he is such a wreck when it comes to her – he shuts his mouth.

"Rest of you? Are you some kind of gang, or what?" She looks at him, absent-minded, and he can tell exactly when she puts two and two together. "Oh, let me guess. You are," her voice fades to a whisper, "a smoker gang."

"Well, I'm outta here." Kilik says as he disappears under the car again, leaving him alone, alone and drowning in her presence.

 _How did she?_ He looks at her, hesitant and amazed when she smiles at him, teeth showing, and he can't decide if it's one of her dangerous smiles or one of the self-appreciative ones. Her eyes glaze over and she seems so distant for a moment, like a lost firefly in the night sky, beautiful and bitter at the same time, and he can't help but wonder what kind of memory–because she is clearly remembering something–has evoked this fondness in her eyes. Despite the numerous warnings his brain so helpfully comes up with, his hand reaches out, ready take her hand, or maybe shake her and bring her back to earth-

"What is this part?" The spell is broken by Aldwin who brings him back to reality with a tug on his pants.

Even Maka loses that inadvertent smile and remembers that she is supposed to glower at him.

"Wait a sec, Aldwin. Albarn, how did you-?" Bewildered she doesn't even let him finish his question, making him drift backward when she leans to him.

"That's a secret. Shhh." She smiles again, but it gets quickly wiped off, when Aldwin, indifferent to the overall mood, dips his hand into the engine and a splatters oil on everything in the vicinity.

"No, don't touch it!"

* * *

It bothers her. What has Blake invented? It could be anything, ranging from serving him whole day, eating dog foot, kissing Blake's foot... Anything.

And the worst thing about it all, was that she was stuck in it with Evans.

"Aldwin. Come. I need to get you home."She calls to the boy. He looks at her, disinterested. She suspects he is still vexed she took him away from the car, and made him go on a hike with her, because he refused to go swimming again. One reason: fish poop.

Well, change of plan it was, and to her defense, he seemed to like it until she turned around on the touristic road, crumpled map in one hand, and announced they were going back. The sun had been just bordering along the horizon, and she was happy they made ti back before it was completely dark.

A small hand grabs hers, and she squeezes it.

"Miss Maka?"

"Yeah, Aldwin?" His glassess glint when he lifts his head to her.

"Do you hate uncle Soul?"

She splutters and stops to crouch down next to him. "Where is this coming from?"

"You two are like fighting cats. At least I think." He tilts his head to the right side. "So, do you hate each other?"

"No! No. Well, I don't hate him, I just, um, dislike him. And I don't know about him, but he probably hates me-"

"Why do you dislike him?"

"Because he is infuriating." She considers her next words. "And trying to act cool, and a complete dingus."

"Why?" This kid is all questions. _Why, why, why._

"Lets say our first meeting wasn't that lovely. The second and third were neither." She cringes at the memory.

"Isn't that just a preconception?" He asks with such an innocence. She doesn't even bother with trying to determine where a five-year old could learn to and come to understand such a concept. "Father says being prejudiced leads to wrong assumptions, and then to wronging someone." Of course Stein must have talked about his job as police. "And mother says being hateful leads only to more hate. She called it a hate circle-"

She knows she is being hateful and a bad person. But she is like this. Her temper is always ahead of her, ahead of all of her actions. It took her one little kid to realize what she has already known: being bad is satisfying just in the beginning. Then, the regrets consume you.

However, she still isn't going to apologize first. Call it her pride, call iit her ego, she isn't.

"Miss Maka? Are you listening?"

* * *

 _"Maka. This is ridiculous. Come on. You need to be the first one to do something bout this. Men are totally clueless when it comes to this sort of thing, trust me. And I can tell, it eats you."_

She knows this is just plainly her level headness because she knows exactly what she has to do. The more rational part of her brain has already knows. Nevertheless, the self-pity still rules still strong.

 _"Maka, answer me. Or are you just going to pretend he doesn't exist? Are you going to avoid him forever?"_

"Yes Liz. I might." She plops down on her bean bag and examines her nail, then starts to chew on them thoroughly.

" _Oh, come on. You know better than this. And sorry girl, you kinda started that argument."_

 _"_ Gah! I know! Why does everyone remind me of it! Blake yesterday, now you..."

" _Because it's true honey. Why is it so hard for you to just go up to him and say sorry? You said he has a nice ass! Do it for his nice ass! Why can't you?"_

"Maybe because I'm egoistic and I don't want to admit being at fault?" She snorts. "And, you came into conclusion he has a nice butt, I never said that."

She sighs when she hears Liz's 'whatever'. Liz gives her the silent treatment then. Maka sighs again.

"I will think about it Liz."

 _"I'm proud of you, Maks. Patty says to say 'hello'!"_

"Just go already Liz. Enjoy your date!" She ends the call and settles deeper into the chair.

Some higher force must clearly be doing this to make her move. It couldn't be a coincidence when three parties-her own guilty brain, Liz, and even a five year-old, goddammit- told her to drop the act and apologize.


	6. Chapter 6

They seem to bump into each other everywhere now.

At first he suspects Albarn is doing it just to spite him that she is following him around just to rub it in his face that she has something on him, on them, and that any moment any second, she could just go up to Stein and cheerily say 'hello, you have a groupie of pot smokers in your backyard, but don't worry, I can fix it!'.

Like when they met in the small restaurant where he just wanted to order a big burger with fries after a long first day of working on her car, and she was already sitting there, sipping on black–black like her demon soul, really, and people accused him of being from the hell-born spawn of Satan–coffee. She zipped away pretty quickly after she spotted him.

And when they met again that night when he was, alone, wandering through the camp. She hopped out of the bushes, startled expression on her face and a heavy tome in her arms. Actually, her embarrassed stare and wide dope eyes told him, she was clearly surprised to meet him again.

And the following day when they met in Stein's house. He has never seen such a quick departure.

And when he went to his van to fetch a new shirt–Star had to be a bitch and spray him with oil–she was hanging out there with Kid. They had a nicely going conversation, as he managed to spot from his crouching position behind one of the vans, playful banter bordering on flirty. He swore to God he would warn Kid before he could allow a mistake, in the form of letting Maka Albarn get too close, happen.

(Well that encounter wasn't technically encounter, just him being gross and spying on a catch up conversation between too old friends. Something didn't sit well with him–there was a churning in his stomach, and a burning feeling that he was just going to blew up–and he returned to the repair shop in a bad mood. With his t-shirt still black and greasy, he snapped at everyone, like a true hell spawn.)

He definitely begins to suspect universe of doing this deliberately, when he meets her after walking out of the men dressing room that night, with just a towel around his hips. She looks more than surprised, closing the door to the girls' locker room quickly, and stomping away in the darkness of the hallway to the bathrooms. He could tell she was blushing, even with the shadow over her face.

It was like they had some sort of agreement– which they didn't have – that they would ignore each other, lest their clashing personalities clash again.

In a second he decides.

"Albarn!" He shouts, standing on the spot. She doesn't turn around. People, mainly older ladies, give him a weird glare. He rapidly raises sails, watching her disappearing back around the corner.

"Albarn. Wait!"He holds his towel tight, trying to walk as quickly as he can because running is not safe with the water sprayed everywhere and last thing he needs is his legs up in the air, and his bottom in the eyesight.

He turns around the corner and gets engulfed in the darkness. Indeed, someone needed to tell Stein about these lights. He catches up to her, contemplating grabbing her arm and stopping, but then decides against it. Having a dent in head wasn't worth it.

"Albarn."

"What!" She stops suddenly, whipping around. He almost runs into her.

He takes a moment to rearrange his thoughts. "Could we please stop this?"

"Stop what?"She turns to him. He doesn't see anything.

He turns his voice down to whisper.

"This ignore thing. It bothers me when everytime we see each other you turn around and run away like Satan is at you feet." Okay, maybe she perceived him that way, with his red eyes and shark teeth. "Look, I know we have that truce thing and all, and thank you for not ambushing me, but I think it was better when we actually said those three hateful words than this." He gesture between them.

Especially if she seemed so close to Kid, maintaining conversation so easy and light, and he had to wonder, what would happen if they met in normal circumstances? If Black Star introduced them, would she be smiling when she talked to him, much less sneering, like when she spoke to Kid? Truth it is, he is no Kid with his golden eyes and a personality that would make you want to know more just to uphold a conversation. He was no Black Star, with his lanky build and chicken noodles of arms. He was not his brother, no talent, no behaviour, black sheep of the family-"So you mean, you want me to- be, what? Vicious?" He can hear the laugh in her voice and he knows if he could see her face she would be smiling too. "And you think, I'm scared of you? Hah. You are so contradictory." She is chuckling by the end of her sentence. "No. I just did some thinking, and I figured out it would be better if we didn't speak anymore. You know. Not to break the truce or anything. I'm really not up to figuring out what Blake has prepared for me."

"For us."

"…"

"Obviously, he has prepared something for us to do together." He hopes she has grasped the meaning of his words. He would really like to avoid trying to explain to her Black Star's deviant mind in the middle of bathroom hallway. Passersby gave them weird looks enough as it was.

"Oh." She is silent. "So, what now?"

"Okay, so here. We kind of stepped on wrong foot when we first met and I'm sorry for being a jerk when you tried to apologize-"

It's like a river dam gets broken down. There is no stopping to the flood now. She has gotten what she has waited for. He apologized first. "I'm sorry for accusing you of being pervert. And for going into your bathroom, adn fro hitting you. Multiple times. And for screaming at you..." She whispers back.

He feels so much better now. He smiles down on her, even if she probably can't see it. Why didn't they do this in the beginning? Why didn't they apologize when Black Star made them agree to a treaty?

"But the bet is still on. We will make Blake suffer. Hm? You in?" She jabs her hand in his stomach. "New, secret treaty, between us? Blake will have no idea what struck him."

He takes her hand and shakes it. "Truce. Hell yeah. We will crush him."

Unbeknownst to them a pair of older ladies keeps watching them interact. "Even in the public bathrooms? What is with youngsters these days?"

* * *

They begin to talk. At first they are just snippets of an actual conversation when he works on her van with either Blake or Kilik. He sometimes pops out when she is guarding Aldwin.

At first–read in, when he showed up the first day after they apologized–they talk about the stupid things. About weather, exchanging the 'how are you'-s, and talking about small themes that ranged from her deaceased dog, to camp and stupid tourists. Just to keep the awkwardness at bay on Soul's part, and to keep Aldwin at bay, and not asking her anymore embarrassing questions and about hating certain white-haired teen on Maka's part.

Then they share memories of Blake's stupidity; she basically tells him the story of her childhood, and he brings himself to tell her his funny memories. Not that there are that many to begin with. They are like prized possessions of his–things that kept the small, excluded boy going on without breaking–but they were still only bread crumbs in comparison to Maka's sweet scented crusty banana bread.

It's a slow process. The evolution of their relationship. If it could even be called that way. She smiled at him, and laughed with him, but there was still this sort of secluded caution in her words and steel in her eyes. He couldn't say he has gained her trust, but something like that was building between them. He is thankful. Everything is better than that murderous Maka.

It takes him two days to finally ask her where she goes to school. He is not a master of words. Maka is. She will study law in New York she tells him, is going to enroll there this year, to follow in her mama's footsteps.

He learns she is strong, determined and fiery, and that most of all she hates cheaters and superficial people. That kind of explained her reaction to the bathroom incident, and partially, even the whole mess the two of them created.

He can understand it now. Cheating is not cool.

He learns she is no-nonsense kind of girl.

In turn, she learns snippets about his life. He has never been such an open person with anyone. As much as Maka is queen of words, he is a master of evasion.

She still pries him open and gets some information from him, even if they are pretty pointless in his opinion. Like, the one how he met Black Star when he first opened the door to his dorm room. Yeah, Death city university. Blake has already been there, pig-styled the room and had been sprawled across the cheap couch and munching on snacks. He has lived his whole life in Las Vegas, he tells her, and that coming to such a smaller city as Death City has been kind of a shock.

She learns he is lazy in things that didn't matter to him, but is extremely allegiant to what really matters. That he is cool or at least that he tries to live by that one word. That he doesn't like Snickers because he is allergic to peanuts, and prefers Mars. But most of all, he is complete fan-girl over Kit-Kat.

She tells him, if it hadn't been for her acceptance to the New York University of law, she would go to the same university as he.

"So, I take it you don't live in Death city?" He asks and wipes away the sweat from his brow and dives back to work on her car. She looks at Aldwin, who is doodling something quietly next to the van's wheels.

She turns her attention back to Soul. It's been three days since their new, secret truce, making it a week since her arrival in the camp, and she found out that making a small chat with Soul was much more entertaining than re-reading Scarlett letter the third time because someone took out her back-pack full of books and left it at home.

Her papa said it was for her own good. Summer wasn't meant to be spent reading books, it was meant to be spent hanging out with friends and creating new memories, and other optimistic shit he sprouted when she accused him of that heinous crime.

However, her father didn't seem to be pleased she started to spending her time talking to the white-haired 'menace' who was working on his 'baby'. She still doesn't know if it's because he distrusted Soul with her or with his car.

Surprising enough, Soul was a good companion-ship, once she got past his barrier. He was snarky to the point of being funny, and stopped calling her 'tiny-tits' after just one hit on the head. Which kind of violated the truce agreement, but hey, Blake wasn't there to stop her.

"Yeah, I moved from there. My parents divorced when I was twelve and my mama went away to travel. Then my papa got transferred to a police station in Reno, and we moved away."

"-I'm sorry." He stops doing whatever he is and turns to face her.

"Thanks. But it's not such a big deal anyway." She plucks at the grass, pulling out blade after blade and shredding it to tiny ribbons.

"Now you tell me."

"What?"

"I don't know. Something about you. I've told you a secret of mine. Now you tell me yours."

"Are we really doing this? You told me yours I tell you mine?"

"Yeah. An exchange of sorts." He turns to her again and sits on the opened car, the hood shading him from the harsh nevada sun. She has the luxury of tree shade. He dries his face with his forearm again, sweat running down his face and his neck and, there is a big sweaty patch on his chest, and he really shouldn't look so good while being so dirty.

She has finally admitted it to herself – after all she had the liberty to, now that he lost the status quo on her enemy list – that while having a really bad personality, she found him really attractive. (A thing she has known ever since the time she hopped in the bathroom with him. It had been kind of hard not to stare at the lean muscle he, clearly, had.)

"I play the piano."

"Really?" She could tell by those long and nimble fingers. If he was able to take apart an engine and then nurse it back to previous state, then why wouldn't he be able to create music with them?

"Really. I kind of forgot to mention I'm getting a music degree. That was kind of the main reason I enrolled to DCU, they have an extensive music program and-what?" He stops when he catches her look.

"I-nothing." She loved books, and wrote poems from time to time, but there her artistic abilities ended. There wasn't anything more distant, and harder to grasp for her as music. Aside from her musical deafness, Maka possessed a lacking imagination in all things related to art. Possibly a family trait, passed down from her mother and father – they both were more of a reality-centered kind of people – and she took after them.

"What kind of music do you listen to?" He asks.

"Electro? Sometimes Dub-step, and house…" He cringes. What does he have against synthetic music? "What!? It has nice beats and strong bass lines and I like it."

"You listen to that?" Then he smirks. "Well, I didn't expect anything less from you."

She throws a ball of crushed grass at him in retaliation. It falls midway on its journey to his face, in the middle of the distance between the two of them. Pathetic.

"I could show you some good music if you are interested."

"What do you think good music is?" She challenges him, eyebrows pulled high.

"I prefer jazz, but there is plenty of good music in each genre, I think. Expect maybe for that synthetic bullshit you listen to." He folds his arms on his chest.

She opens her mouth ready to defend her choice of option. This time however, they keep their argument in the friendly boundaries, overstepping them only by little, when he calls her 'deaf' and she calls him 'picky'.That still doesn't stop her from taking the CD's he has offered to her.

* * *

It had to be against the law.

Those long legs of hers, he means. He has seen them, he has perceived them even before, he has thought they were nice but now?

They were his death.

Today was his turn to work under the car. It just didn't help him Maka kept hanging around Kilik where he worked on the engine, ad he just so happened to have his head next to her legs.

With the amount of skin showing he was surprised he still didn't get a nosebleed.

Speak of the devil…

He slithers from under the car, holding his nose, drops of blood leaking between his fingers.

"Oh my god. Soul! Are you okay? I will get you some tissues. Oh god, there is so much blood, what happened to you?-" She rants on even when she disappears in the van.

Kilik gives him aknowing look as he swears mutely under his breath.

* * *

She leans back on a tree trunk and enjoys a rare sight. She takes apart her sandwich and munches on a pickle, simultaneously watching him. Soul fell asleep right next to her, literally mid-chew. He told her he has been working on something the whole night. It was visible.

She told him he looked like death. He just sneered at her.

And now, with a nice, warm weather, a full stomach and a surface to lean on, he has taken the liberty to nap. Cute. Like an overgrown tiger.

She takes his head, and slowly, as if to not wake him up, settle his head on her thighs. He nuzzles in her shorts.

Insanely cute. She just hopes he doesn't drool.

She will wake him up later with a blast of techno to his ear, but right now, she just enjoyswhat the skies have sent her.

* * *

"Hey, Maka!"Someone startles her with banging on the car window, by which she sits, and attempts to catch signal on her laptop. There is wi-fi signal supposed to be here, but she still doesn't catch it. "Maka! The Star has arrived! Come out!"

She has been 'enjoying' a free day. Stein was out of the camp and took Aldwin with him and her papa has disappeared to god-knows where, which left her list of to do things completely blank. Even the mechanics have a free day, as Soul managed to tell her yesterday when she came to fetch the CD's. The joy she has felt upon discovering the fact she would have a whole day for herself has been mercifully crushed after few hours of solid boredom – even a quick dip to the lake wasn't that delightful when she was alone. And without a company of a good book – trust her, she attempted to read 'The Scarlett letter', again, only to throw it on her bed five minutes after – her day was so dull she could, literally, die.

She shuts her lap-top, grabs her phone and her grey sweatshirt and hurries out of the vehicle. She jumps out of the van, locks the door and puts the key next to the tire.

"Maka!" She straightens up and turns around. Blake is standing behind her with a tall black-haired girl.

"Hi Blake. Hi-um?"

"Maka, meet Tsubaki. My Goddess." The girl in question blushes such a glaring shade of pink, she practically shines. "Tsubaki, meet Maka."

"Hi Tsubaki." Tsubaki cheerfully greets her back, and they shake hands.

"So, what's up? I got a text from Soul half an hour ago that you would come and fetch me. Is something happening?" Blake starts to walk away and she quickly follows.

"IF something's happening? You bet! It's sunday and we are celebrating another successful week behind us! With a" he makes a dramatic pause, "barbecue!"

"You can count me in." They walk in silence afterwards.

She begins to feel like a third wheel–Blake keeps whispering something into Tsubaki's ear, too low for her to catch. Guessing by Tsubaki's blush and a occasional embarrassed laugh she is not so sure she would like to hear it, even if she could–when Tsubaki suddenly attempts to make a conversation with her.

"Maka. That doesn't sound like a western name."

"It isn't. My mama was japanese."

"Oh, really?" The girl becomes visibly enthusiastic. "Do you speak any Japanese?"

She responds by greeting her in her second language. Rest of the time needed to make it to the destination is spent with her chatting up with Tsubaki.

* * *

She huddles deeper into the blanket and scoots closer to the fire. She should have grabbed something warmer than when she went out. Wood in the fire snaps and sparks fly high in the night sky.

"Hey there."

A familiar raspy and gruff voice calls at her from behind her back.

"Hey." She says when he plops down next to her to sit on the log.

"When do you need to get back?" She faces him. Soul. In the mean expanse of four days, he has become something like a friend to her. At least she guesses they could be considered friends.

"In about thirty minutes. I would stay longer, but I left a note to papa that I would be back before eleven."

He hums in response. Together they watch the fire and the idiots that run around caravan.

"Is this your caravan?" She gestures to the green van.

"Yeah. Oh well, it's not mine, but I live here with Black Star." They are silent for second. "Have you listened to the music I gave you?"

"Yeah, I have." She suddenly sounds cheery. She expresses her opinion on each and every one. He smiles and nods when some of his more favourite artists get mentioned.

"Wow, I'm impressed. Have you been taking notes?"

He can tell the answer by her blush.

"Wow. I knew it was bad. But this bad? You're are such a nerd, I'm going to puke." He teases.

"And you are a snob." He freezes. She doesn't notice and continues with a laugh. "A music snob."

"Hey. Want to get out of here?" He interrupts her giggle-fit, when he suddenly stands up. She twists his head upwards, watching him peering down on her.

There is a real fire reflecting in her eyes and her fair hair is golden, small strands that have slid out of her pigtails framing her face. Her lips are small and plump and he wonders how much would he enjoy dipping down and to her level and tasting her.

"Yeah." She breaths out and the magic of the moment is broken, leaving him dumbfounded and looking at her stupidly when she stands up and sets the checkered blanket aside.

He shouldn't have drunk that fourth beer. What kind of dirty thoughts were these? And just when did he went from 'Abort! Albarn!' to 'I wish I could kiss you after four beers'?

"Are you coming or what?" he is shaken out of his reverie. They walk around his friends – "Hey, where is Star? Never mind Ox, tell him I'll be back in an hour"–who are currently going wild, and causing a rocket around the campfire.

The lights of the barbecue fade away slowly, only the lamps and buzzing night insects holding guard above them.

She folds her arms on her chest and represses her shiver.

"Do you like them?" She says as she inspects the ground under her feet. There is one small shadow and one much, much taller one travel next to each other in the sea of orange light.

"Hm?" He kicks at the gravel.

What a stupid question. Of course he likes his friends. She considers not repeating the question again, but she has his attention now. For the lack of any better back-up alternative, or any alternative at that matter, she repeats her question."Your friends, I mean. Do you like them?"

"Yeah. Of course I do. I wouldn't be hanging out with them, otherwise."

Her eyes turn steel. "Right, stupid question, sorry."

She keeps silent after. How much more irritating could this woman get even get? "I mean. They are a weird bunch, that's for sure." He begins to talk. About Star's extensive superiority complex, about the ever impassive Kid – his stomach churns when her eyes light up when he mentions Kid getting his engineering degree.

She rolls her eyes when he mentions Ox's need to be first in everything brainiac-related– "Yeah, I' ve got to experience that. He kept on repeating that the Luna moth can grow only to three inches, when it, clearly grows up to four and a half inch"– and he has to snort. Nerds.

"-Kilik has his two siblings here, Fire and Thiunder, they are crazy. And I'm pretty sure Harvar is gay." He ends his monologue.

"Sorry, but that sounds a little homophobic." She turns to him, arms still crossed and hands tugged firmly under her armpits.

"I'm not homophobic." He wishes he had something under his sweatshirt, so he could give it to her.

"I'm not saying you are, just that you sound like that." She stops.

"And you are an SJW. I'm not homophobic. For your information – my brother is homosexual." He stops too. She shivers in the cold air. The chivalrous part of him commands him to take off that sweatshirt and to fucking offer it to her, already.

"Sorry, I didn't know-"

"Why are you apologizing? Look, do you want my sweatshirt?"

"I don't know. And no, I don't need it. We are almost here."

"Okay." One part of him is grateful she has declined his offer, the other one regrets he doesn't get to see her drowning in his clothes. They walk around the cars, through the silent night, and he wishes to say something else.

Her van comes im sight.

"Okay. Goodnight Soul. Thank you for walking me home." She stops and faces him.

"It was nothing." He over acts being humble. She slaps him on the arm while laughing. Contact! They made a contact!

Then he stops his internall celebration. _'So what if we did touch.'_ He thinks.

 _'_ _Come on man, that clearly means something… Girls touch when they are flirting.'_ His other part responds.

 _'_ _No it does_ _ **not**_ _. Pay attention, she is going to say something.'_

"Can I ask you something?" She says, already standing on the in the opened door. She is level with him once again, her eyes in the same height as his. That fourth beer was beginning to kick in. It must be, otherwise he can't picture why he would be lusting for a quick peck on her lips. And maybe for more, if he let his brain wander.

"You already did."

She rolls her eyes. "Are we friends?"

"I think that yes. Yes we are. Well, only if you want to. I mean. Well I would like to…" he realizes he has been blabbering. Yet again."

"Friends it is then." She smiles at him.

* * *

 _Why the hell would he discard his shirt? She refuses._

 _Goddamit, she refuses._

 _He leans on one of his arms and bends down to fiddle with something in the engine. Hiis rear comes to sight, so beautifully chiseled, and her mind creeps away from reality as she begins to wonder, how would it feel if she touched it._

 _That is so not like her. She swore to herself she would avoid any romantic encounters of sorts. She wants to stand by her words, but it gets so hard - especially when he straightens and catches his weight on the open hood this time, the muscles in his back tying themselves into beautiful knots. She wants to reach out and caress a patch of skin and maybe turn him around and check if had abs. And V-zone. And if he really was white-haired naturally or he just bleached hiss hair._

 _"_ Maka, admit it. You are a low-key sinner. _" Liz's words course though her mind. They roll around, turn and mix up, creating a giant circling tornado she falls in head first._

She wakes up, chest heaving. What the?

Did she just have a wet dream?

What was with her? She groans and throws her forearm over her eyes

God help her, if this would evolve to be a constant thing in her life. This has been a second dream of this kind during the last three days. The first one hasn't been so innocent. 'Low-key sinner.' Yeah. It appeared she really was one. Were these kind of things inheritable?

She sighs and figures she might as well get up and start her day because it won't be any sleep for her anymore.


	7. Chapter 7

Shooting him a text is a constant now. Natural to her like breathing. Even when she is out with her dad eating a dinner, she sends him a message or two. When she lays in bed, awake, thinking about the day, she shoots him a quick text.

Sometimes he is quick to respond. Sometimes he responds after a few hours.

It scares her how fast the things are progressing, but it feels good to not be perceived like a King-Kong all the time. And she is kind of happy with the direction the progress has.

The end of her second week in the camp is near. Marie has already returned from her trip, taking the responsibility for the grey-haired boy from her shoulders. She is going to miss him.

She has so much free time now and she spends its vast majority with Soul, hanging out with him when he is working on her car. Sometimes even Tsubaki comes, when Black Star is present. She was a nice girl, with such a sweet personality it was impossible to not like her after two conversations. And she was a good influence on Blake, so why not? She got to practice her Japanese that way.

"Soul, you want something to drink, Black Star you? Tsubaki?" She asks the trio that is currently having a snack, sprawled on the grass next to her caravan.

"Soda, thanks."

"Just water would be nice, thank you."

"I want beer!" Star shouts with a full mouth.

"I don't think we have beer." She says, a bit disgusted. What did Tsubaki see in him? He was like an annoying little brother.

"Then bring me water."

She disappears inside and leaves him to the hungry piranhas.

"So, Soul. My man. You've been spending and awful lot of time with my friend Maka." Black Star grins at him lewdly. "Tsubaki, what do you think?"

"I think, we've got something here. A classical light novel theme. Two protagonists hate each other and then, hate turns into lov. Pretty quickly at that."

"I don't know what you two are talking about."

"You don't? Ox told me the two of you disappeared into the night after ten pm. That's definitely not pg-13." Star says, mischief in his voice and eyes.

"I just walked her back to her van. It's nothing Black Star. Leave it be."

Star opens his mouth to retort back with something sassy, when Maka reappears again, beverages on the tray in her hands.

"What were you talking about?"

"Nothing." Soul quickly answers. "Well, I'm full." He makes a show of patting his stomach. "And I think we should probably get back to work. We don't have that much left to do anyway."

His words hit him suddenly. It's true. The engine will be repaired in a day or two. What does that leave him with?

He remembers how Maka told him how excited she was to get on the road again. How she wanted to make this summer memorable. How she wanted to experience new things.

She has made his summer memorable.

He doesn't want her to leave him.

* * *

"Dude, tomorrow, the car will be ready and shinning like new." Star shouts after his departing back.

Yeah, he knows. She already told him. The day after tomorrow, she and Spirit will raise sails to resume their road trip. He pulls the cap lower over his eyes.

"Oh, Soul. Don't cry." Star calls after him. He walks out of the repair shop, Black Star following shortly after him. "Honestly I didn't think you two would get so close, bro. How long is it? Two weeks since your argument?"

"Close shot. It has been only ten days."

"And now you are like two best friends."

"Maybe." He says and looks at Black Star, who locks the door.

"Come on, don't be so grouchy. At least there is still facebook." Yeah he knows. They have already exchanged addresses, when they talked about her departure yesterday. Star bonks him in the shoulder.

"Yes. There is still facebook."

"And you won the bet! I guess running around naked it is tomorrow morning. You made your God bow. HAHAHA!" It's not the usual enthusiastic way Black Star tends to shout. So Soul is not alone, not the only one who is affected by Maka going away. "I can't believe you really didn't chew each other out. The great Black Star lost a bet!"

Oh, yeah. The bet. That will probably be the only good thing about tomorrow. Soul laughs. Mostly to just show Black Star he can let him be. They begin to walk in the direction of their van.

"Yes. We won. Okay, cool bro. I know Tsubaki is waiting for you. Go." Star shows him thumbs up. And asks one last time 'cool bro?' to which he responds 'yeah. Cool.' Black Star claps him on his shoulder and runs forward, then stops and if he has rememabered something. He forms a cup around his mouth with his hands and shouts at him, before disappearing from his sight.

"You know, if I didn't know better, I would say you like her, dude. Duuuuude!"

The night is approaching fast. He puts his hands in his pockets, and slouches down even more.

 _'I would say you like her.'_

The last of Star's words resonate through him. 'You like her.' He may be just true. Black Star hadn't realized how close he hit to home with that one.

He doesn't know for sure. Does he like her? Maybe. Is it possible to fall for someone after only two and half weeks? He think it is.

Could Maka like him?

He knows she is scared of relationships–her parents' was an intimidating example that is for sure – and none of her two relationships lasted longer than five months because, apparently, the fuck-boys, as she has put it, were merely fuck-boys. He knows she is scared to let someone get too close to her other than platonic way. Will she let him get close?

Because he has let her. He has let her slip under his skin and in his thoughts and in his dreams…

There are so many things he doesn't know for sure.

And that's precisely why he wanders off his course, precisely why he took that paper knife from the garage and is currently griping it tightly in the pocket of his leather jacket and walking in the direction of her van, plan forming in his head.

Because the only thing he knows with a startling clarity is that he needs more time.

* * *

And it's hard, really hard to pass those three final inches to his door. She takes a deep breath that rattles her whole being exhales, tells herself to stop stalling and press the knob.

It opens without trouble. She doesn't even know how, or when, or how is that possible-The door opens and reveals another side of Soul, this time a dead tired one. He doesn't look good-there are dark circles under his eyes, and his surprised expression is quickly schooled to a neutral one in matter of seconds. She doesn't know if she should be alarmed or not by his quickness at putting forth a stoic mask.

"Why are you here?" She wants to run and hide and maybe never see him again, but she knows if she runs now the chances of scraping up enough courage to go and meet him again are nonexistent.

So she does the only logical thing: she shoulders past him and dives into the van. Four walls will stop her if she, by any chance, changed her resolution now.

"You missed Black Star's Great run."

"I wasn't in the mood."

The van is, as expected, a nasty mess. It's the typival boy cave: it smells like axe, a whole lot of axe– she has figured Soul was a loyal Old-Spice dude, so that meant Black Star was the one lathing himself in generous amount of 'manliness'– there are socks and shirts and boxers– eww, she doesn't want to think about their state-strewn everywhere, beds are unmade, and the thin layer of dust covering the small kitchenette implies it has never been used.

But the thing that catches her eye, or better, her nose, the most is that smell. Something that reeked very much of burning herbs and depression.

"Done looking around?

"Have you been smoking? That's nasty shit." She looks around the caravan and spots a thin line of smoke coming from almost totally consumedj oint. "It destroys your brains cells."

"Not more than a five minute call with your cell." He takes the joint in his fingers and takes a puff just to spite her.

She weighs the pros and cons and comes out with a result: she wants to try it. "I want a smoke too."

"What?" He almost chokes on the smoke he breaths out.

"You have been avoiding me for almost two days straight. The only thing you can do is to have a smoke with me now." Yeah, he has been avoiding her. Ever since that moment he came to understand she was going to go away the second her car was repaired.

That's also why he did what he did.

"Are you sure? I mean really sure?" Soul asks her, his slower reflexes making him drawl out each syllable out more than usual.

"Yeah." She breaths out.

* * *

"So, do I just-"

"Yeah, just put it in you mouth. It's like normal smoking."

"I have never smoked."

"…I won't even ask."

"Okay, so I just-"

"-Put it in your mouth and suck." He cringes at the implications his mind provides him with. "Suck air."

"What else you genius." She grins at him and she finally puts the joint in her mouth. She lifts the lighter to her mouth and tries to light it up.

He takes it gently from her hands after her third failed attempt.

"Here. Just let me-"

"No, I can-" He also takes the joint from her mouth and puts it in his. He lights up the lighter on first go and then holds the flame to the tip of the rolled cigarette. It begins to smoulder and he takes three breaths to make it burn properly.

He then takes the fuming joint and offers it to her.

She takes it, puts it to her mouth and proceeds to take a breath.

She looks so proud of herself for not coughing when she breathes the smoke out, it breaks his heart to crroect her. "You did it wrong."

"Hm?" She snapps her eyes to him.

"You've got to breathe it in your loungs, not only in your mouth. It won't get in your blood in needed amount. Try again."

And so she sucks the air through the joint again. He can tell she does it properly this time – she nearly coughs out her lungs.

* * *

He lays sprawled on his shitty excuse of a couch, with his head thrown back against the back rest. Maka mirrors his pose, letting her head fall back.

"Am I high now?"

"I don't know?" He laughs and takes another swift puff from the rapidly-diminishing weed roll. He passes it to her again. She puts it to her mouth.

This is his second joint today. He would have been worried about the outcome, if his brain wasn't so out of it.

"You are, probably."

He gets up and founds his notebook under all that mess on his bed, and sits down back to her. This time he gets a nice addition – she puts her legs in lap. He sets the notebook on the table in front of him and hits play on one of his favourite play-lists. He has especially put it together for situations like this. No wonder he named it The Weed Remix 2015.

"What is this?" Maka asks when the soft music begins to roll from his notebook.

"That's my play-list."

"I like it." She closes her eyes and begins to sway to the tune.

"What do you want to do? It's three pm. We've got plenty of time till the effects wear off-"

Startling him, Maka jumps up and leaves him behind and wanton on his couch. He wants to feel those shins under his hands again. She starts to walk around his caravan, examining different parts of his home. She stops by the mess of a kitchen table and brushes away the stray papers and lone socks.

"Are you and radio-amateur?" She says, pointing on a small grey box with headphones. Ham radio.

"Yeah. I try to. Kind of. It's – I don't even know – interesting to listen to other people across the globe bragging about nonsense. I feel… not that alone, I guess." She looks at him with unwavering interest, her pupils dilated to a point where the green of her eye is just a thin circle around the enormous blackness. He supposes he doesn't look different.

"So, you know the Morse code?"

"Yeah. I went to a course to learn it in DCU."

"Wow." She breaths out.

"It's not rocket science." He dismisses her with a laugh. "We can send something if you want."

She nods, excitedly like a small kid.

And so he stands up, plops down next to her on the kitchen table and takes the Morse code contacts in his hand. "Put on the headphones. What should I write?"

"Say: I'm high and I don't care."

He takes a while to get the astray thoughts to behave and arrange them in neat line.

 _'I like Maka_ _Albarn_ ' He plays in short and long periods.

"Say: world can go suck a dick."

 _'And I think she is pretty bad ass'_

"Wow that sounds nice. Say whatever you want. I'm just gonna listen." She lays on the table, and his eyes follow the line of her back and neck, when she folds arms under her head.

And so he writes for her. Bad poems, odes, and compliments.

For the first time in almost half of a decade he wishes he had a piano. That way, she would understand what he was trying to tell her.

At least, she would have a better chance of understanding than she had with the Morse code.

* * *

She is slowly sinking back to earth.

And with every inch she falls down, the need to finally ask grows taller.

"Soul?" She asks. He opens one eye and looks down at her sitting form leaning on the couch. She almost feels bad for disturbing him from that slumber like state, but she has to ask now.

"Are you the one who pierced the tires on out van?" He tenses up. His whole attention is dedicated to her.

She can see the answer in his face.

"Papa flipped shit. I thought he was going to destroy something-" She climbs on the couch, folding her legs beneath her. She almost chuckles at the memory of her papa kicking the van multiple times.

"You knew?"He leans in closer.

"Knew what?"

"Don't play innocent." He puts one hand next to her on the couch. She refuses to feel like prey.

She lifts up her chin haughtily. "-I wanted to hear it from you." She remembers the anxiety she felt, still feels, upon thinking she could have made a wrong assumption.

"Can I kiss you?" He asks and she breaks.

"Yes." She closes her eyes and waits.

There is a small peck on her lips, and she opens her eyes to find out that Soul has her caged in for real this time around.

She closes her eyes. "Again."


End file.
